


When the Night Changes

by sindubu



Category: Red Velvet (K-pop Band), So Nyuh Shi Dae | Girls' Generation
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, F/F, Gen, Multi, so this happened
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-17
Updated: 2016-07-07
Packaged: 2018-02-25 18:18:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2631554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sindubu/pseuds/sindubu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So your immediate resolution is to build a time traveling machine to go back in time and fix everything?” she asks dryly.</p>
<p>“You got it,” Wendy chirps brightly, and Irene grimaces.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written fic in years, and I've written RV and/or Soshi fic... never, haha, so be kind! Inspired entirely by [this photo](https://38.media.tumblr.com/7901cfa098dfbbff32dbc3658ea7e8ca/tumblr_nawp5bA6b01rn60juo1_1280.jpg) and an enabler who shall go unnamed. (: Title taken from One Direction's "Night Changes," and this is part one of I don't even know because I don't know what I'm doing with my life.

“How -- ” Irene shakes her head, thinks better of asking the mechanics behind the theory of relativity and traveling faster than the speed of light, “What possessed you to think this was a good idea?”

“You saw them at my aunt Krystal’s wedding last week,” Wendy’s head pops up behind the corner of the strange contraption, sounding too matter of fact for what she’s planning, “and what they’re like at my recitals.” 

The thing is, the younger girl isn’t wrong. In fulfillment of loyal girlfriend duties, Irene hasn’t missed the way Wendy’s moms -- divorced since she was two -- always tiptoe around each other, with shy glances and uncertain smiles. It’s not like they hate each other; in fact, Irene would bet just the opposite. 

The problem is Wendy would, too. 

“So your immediate resolution is to build a time traveling machine to go back in time and fix everything?” she asks dryly. 

“You got it,” Wendy chirps brightly, and Irene grimaces. 

As if she sees -- she’s busying herself back with the machine again -- she adds, “Don’t worry. This won’t even be done for awhile.” 

Irene nods just as Wendy finishes, “It’ll take at least another week.” 

Sometimes, Irene doesn’t know whether to be scared or impressed. 

\--- 

Irene doesn’t think she’s a particularly controlling girlfriend, or person in general for that matter. She never feels comfortable telling people what to do, and she’ll never outright say “this is a bad idea.” If anything, she’s the kind of girl who raises the appropriate, logical concerns and then stands by to offer support in case anything does go wrong -- without the _I told you so_ attached. It’s just who she is, and if anyone (Wendy) needed a more vocal opposition (Wendy), she knows other people (dutiful best friends) can fill that role. 

Which is why when Seulgi slams her palms out onto the table when they’re all out together for lunch a few days later and exclaims, “This is such a good idea!” Irene feels betrayed. 

“You’re a terrible person,” Irene mutters into the rim of her glass, but nobody seems to notice. 

Wendy beams, obviously pleased, as Joy asks, “But unnie, how are you going to get them back together?” 

“Obviously she’s going to remind them of all the reasons they fell in love to begin with!” Seulgi cuts in, raising one fist triumphantly and nearly giving Joy a black eye in the process, “Fighting!” 

Wendy’s still smiling, but Irene notices it dims just fractionally. 

“I don’t know,” she admits, looking down at her half-eaten plate, “they really never told me why they split up. If I ask, all they say is that they’re better off, but I know even _they_ know that’s not true.” 

Irene thinks about the one time she and Wendy broke up for a week, and one of her dance instructors suggested maybe they just weren’t meant to be. She finds herself reaching under the table to squeeze Wendy’s thigh. “You’ll figure it out,” she intones quietly, full of reassurance, and the lights flicker back on in Wendy’s eyes again at the small act of comfort, as dazzling as stars. 

“You should just take Bae Joohyun with you,” Seulgi interrupts again, “since she could practically teach lessons in Googly Eyes 101.” 

Irene starts with a warning “yah” at the same time Wendy answers, “I was planning on it.” 

“Mending love with your love,” Seulgi sighs, cupping her cheeks with her hands, “how romantic. Isn’t that so romantic, Joy?” 

“So romantic,” Joy smiles so earnestly Irene’s glare phases out into a doleful look instead, “If anyone could help Wendy unnie, it’s you.” 

Betrayed again, Irene thinks. 

\--- 

“What if something goes wrong?” she asks worriedly as Wendy powers up the time machine in her second bedroom. Jessica only ever looks in the first and the third, and initially, Irene thought it was a little weird her girlfriend had so many rooms in one house, but she doesn’t know how other daughters of fashion designers live so she can only assume it’s normal. 

“With the machine? No way.” Wendy stands back to look at Irene, eyebrow raised. 

“No, that’s not what I mean.” Anxious eyes dart around the room before landing back on the girl, dark as coffee grounds Wendy could get lost in. Wendy softens. “What is it?” 

“What if something we change in the past changes the future?” Irene asks, and she knows Wendy’s about to tell her that’s the _whole idea_ behind this, so she adds quickly, “What if it changes something else?” 

“What are you talking about?” Wendy moves to rest her hands on either sides of Irene’s hips, tugging her close. Her forehead is wrinkled in concern and Irene wants to kiss it. 

“What if your parents get back together and decide to send you to boarding school overseas like you said you begged for when you were ten?” Irene rushes out, and Wendy frowns, half because she hadn’t given it thought and half because that’s something she’s only mentioned to her girlfriend once, years ago, and how does Irene remember? “Or something else. What if it changes you?” 

She takes a breath. “What if it changes us?” 

“Then the circumstances change, and we don’t,” Wendy promises, leaning in for a kiss that is too much and ends too soon for Irene’s fast beating heart, “Nothing like that changes, okay? Butterfly effect be damned.” 

“You should’ve never introduced me to your dumb American movies,” Irene huffs, but it’s feigned and Wendy laughs against her mouth. “We’re gonna do this?” 

“We’re gonna do this,” Wendy affirms, taking her hand as they walk side by side into the past. 

Irene can’t say she’s sure about this just yet, but she is sure of the girl holding her hand. Everything else -- well, it’s like she told Wendy before. She’d figure it out. _They’d_ figure it out. 

\--- 

If Irene had to explain the sensation of time travel to someone, she’d attribute it to the swooping feeling in her stomach during a flight when the plane finally lifts off the ground. 

That, and a sharp pain in her back. 

“My back,” she groans, and Wendy immediately jumps off of her and where her elbow had previously lodged itself. She shifts and moves to stand, dusting off her clothes and offering a hand to Wendy. “Where are we?” 

“The dorms,” Wendy replies, looking around and immediately opening various moving boxes, “when my parents’ group split up, they couldn’t bear to leave everything, so they paid rent to the company to just keep junk here.” She holds up a calendar and flips through the pages. “According to this, they won’t realize they can all just meet at each other’s houses for another five years. I was seven.” 

“In any case,” she continues, unearthing a large blanket and hopping a little to throw it over the time machine, “half the bedrooms are used as storage, so I figured it was our safest bet.” 

It hadn’t occurred to Irene that Wendy had to be precise about everything -- from where exactly they’d end up to what year and date it was. Is, now. 

Of course, little details could fly over your head like that when your girlfriend built a _freaking time machine from scratch in one week,_ so Irene doesn’t give herself much grief over it. 

“And the date?” she prompts again, not because it matters much but because between her boots and Wendy’s sweater that was hers once upon a time, they’re not exactly dressed for summer. 

“December third,” answers Wendy, shoulders dropping slightly, “from what I gathered, they broke up some time around this month.” 

There’s that look in her eyes again, there before she chews her bottom lip and her fists tighten at her sides, and maybe anyone else wouldn’t notice, but Irene does. She’s spent so much time already, noticing Wendy. 

“I know we’re here on a mission and all, but do you think we could go to the races, maybe pick up a lotto number?” Irene says with a straight face, watching the way Wendy bursts into laughter as affection swells within her at the sight and sound. “That’s not a yes or a no.” 

“Maybe after we get some progress in on said mission,” Wendy teases. 

“Good enough for me,” she supplies, looping her arm through her girlfriend’s and beginning to make their way out of the dorms and into the streets. 

\--- 

As it turns out, Tiffany has a broadcast performance today, something Wendy was aware of when making preparations. With a flash of a badge and a disarming smile, they’re allowed backstage where Irene spends five minutes reminding the girl that walking back and forth in her mother’s dressing room murmuring nervously is not only counterproductive, it’s going to get them caught and thrown out. 

In fact, the former happens sooner than either of them are prepared for. 

“Are you two lost?” 

The two girls freeze, only breaking their identical deer in the headlights expressions to look to each other briefly in panic, then back again at Jessica Hwang-Jung, or better known to the public as Jessica Jung, former Girls Generation member and life partner to Tiffany. 

Jessica’s eyebrow arch is really just as impressive as it is in the future, Irene thinks. She hasn’t aged much in their time, but the curves of her face are more rounded in this one, a smooth quality to her skin that’s polished off by a natural blush to her cheeks. Even with a toddler in her arms, she can tell Jessica looks every part of the young successful businesswoman, her blazer cinched perfectly at her waist where Irene’s eyes trail upwards to the dip of her collared shirt and -- 

“What are you doing?” Wendy asks suddenly, sharply, and Irene freezes again for an entirely different reason. 

“Uh -- ” 

“Uh,” Wendy mocks, and Irene can’t hold back her wince, “Well?” 

“I wasn’t -- ” her mouth snaps shut at her girlfriend’s look, and Irene tries again. “It’s not what you think.” 

“And just what do I think?” 

“Kids.” Jessica cuts in between them, amazingly coming across both impatient and entirely disinterested all at once. “I’m pretty sure I asked if you’re lost, considering you’re in my wife’s dressing room.” 

It’s too surreal, Irene decides, that this Jessica is the same Jessica that stared her down with a bone chilling gaze the first time Wendy brought her home. It’s too strange coupled with the fact Irene’s pretty sure her heart is going sixty miles a minute, which isn’t entirely unusual in the woman’s proximity, it’s just this time it’s _not_ because she thinks Jessica’s going to bite her head off for so much as looking at Wendy the wrong way. 

And it’s too freaking weird to also factor in that the rousing child in her arms is -- 

“Oh my God,” her girlfriend’s jaw drops at the same time Irene whispers an awe struck, _“Wendy.”_

Jessica looks down to the sleepy little girl in her arms, gives her a little shake as her eyes soften toward her daughter in the way Irene knows they’ll still do years and years later, and then looks back up at the two of them. Her gaze narrows and Irene feels the temperature in the room drop forty degrees. She’s looking at them too closely for her to be comfortable with, stopping on Wendy in particular. 

“Just who are -- ” 

“I thought I heard your voice,” Tiffany all but bursts through the door, closing it behind her and immediately taking toddler Wendy from Jessica, kissing her on the cheek as she does so. 

Toddler Wendy. 

Irene doesn’t think she’ll ever get over this, even if toddler Wendy’s happy gibberish at having both of her moms nearby might be the cutest thing she’s ever seen, and she’s watched Joy do aegyo more times than she can count on both hands. 

Tiffany’s not wearing anything too out there, thank _God,_ but even then, when she too looks younger, different from the Tiffany Irene’s familiar with, Irene doesn’t immediately try to avert her eyes and keep them on her simultaneously. Maybe it’s because she’s always held a more comfortable relationship with Wendy’s other mom; when Wendy had brought her home to Tiffany, the woman had squealed and insisted she’d looked like some Taeyeon. 

“And who are these two?” Tiffany finally asks when she notices the two additions to the room, and the focus returns to them, naturally, and Irene gulps as Jessica’s mouth forms into a thin line yet again. 

“I was trying to find out. I found them when I got here,” Jessica explains. 

“Hmmm.” And just like that, Wendy’s other parent peers too closely for Irene to feel confident about her girlfriend’s choice in coming here, or trying to interfere in such a personal way. Wasn’t there some sort of way she and Wendy could hover omnisciently without either party knowing they were being manipulated into staying together? Like little fairy child/child in law? 

“I know,” Tiffany straightens, eyes crinkling into a signature smile, and Irene can feel the way Wendy shifts anxiously beside her. As subtly as she can, she places a palm against the small of Wendy’s back, soothing her. 

“You’re fans!” 

“Uh -- ?” 

“Yes,” Wendy bursts, silencing Irene with a look, turning toward her mothers with wide, imploring eyes, “Yes, we’re just fans. We snuck in because we’re cute and small and no one expects harm from anything cute and small. We’re harmless. Please don’t sic security on us.” 

“What she said.” Irene’s arm drops, and she sinks into a low bow. Wendy follows suit. “We just wanted to meet you. We’re very sorry and apologize for any inconvenience.” 

“Jessi,” Tiffany lets out a small laugh, looking at her wife and then back at them, “Jessi, they’re so cute.” 

“They recognized Wendy,” Jessica still frowns, still suspicious. Irene thinks she wants to die. 

“You know, now that I get a closer look, they do look familiar,” Tiffany tilts her head to the side, and Irene knows it’s completely illogical, there’s no freaking way they’d know, they couldn’t know, what reasonable person would even _come up_ with the right conclusion, but her heart still threatens to jump right out of her chest, fall to the floor at their feet and howl: _It’s us, it’s us, it was my idea, Wendy doesn’t even know how to build a time machine, spare your daughter._

“Are you trainees?” They nod furiously. “What are your names?” 

They didn’t talk about this. They did not talk about this. 

“My name is Joohyun,” Irene sinks into a low bow again, figuring she’d never bothered telling Wendy’s parents the name she’d originally grown up with, and judging by Wendy’s exhale next to her, she hadn’t brought it up to them, either. 

It doesn’t mean Wendy doesn’t immediately stiffen when Tiffany personally addresses her with a kind, “And you?” 

“S-S-Son Seungwan,” she stutters, also bowing. 

Tiffany blinks, then jostles the infant in her arms and hums. 

“You hear that, Wendy? A pretty unnie has the name Jessi put down on your birth certificate,” she slyly glances her partner’s way and finishes, “there’s hope among us, after all.” 

“Seungwan is a perfectly acceptable name,” Jessica retorts evenly, and Irene relaxes minutely at the way she’s not glaring daggers anymore. 

“Of course it is. Wendy is just easier for everyone else involved,” Tiffany placates. 

“Hear, hear,” Wendy -- _her_ Wendy, not the Wendy in Tiffany’s arms -- mutters under her breath. Jessica shoots her a scrutinizing look and she shrinks into Irene’s side. “Um, anyway, like Ir -- Joohyun said, we’re very sorry if we disturbed you. We just admire you. Both of you.” 

“Oh, stop that, it’s not a burden at all,” the woman brushes away their apologies, and ignores Jessica’s scoff beside her, “Tell you what. How about we take you girls to a late breakfast tomorrow? I have time in my schedule to spare, and Wendy has one too many willing babysitters. Seven, to be exact.” 

Wendy’s half-yelped “Really?” coincides perfectly with Jessica’s indignant, “We?” 

“Really,” Tiffany beams, and Irene is caught off guard at the brightness of it. “I wouldn’t be a good role model if I didn’t take the time to support trainees, would I? Are you two about to debut soon? You’re as pretty as idols already, and you look close.”

Irene flushes, and _nope,_ Wendy can take this one. 

“Ha, ha, yeah. Um, we’ve just trained together for a long time. The company is considering us, but nothing’s been announced yet,” Wendy lies, awkward and fumbling but getting the job done. 

“We?” Jessica repeats. 

“That’s why I said a _late_ breakfast, Jessi,” Tiffany redirects her smile onto her, and Irene watches as Jessica’s expression completely shifts, an indifferent edge to her tone as she mutters an, “alright,” even when she looks almost dazed. It makes a small grin appear at the corners of Irene’s lips a little bit. 

Maybe this wasn’t such a suicide mission, after all. 

“So tomorrow? Ten-thirty, maybe? We can meet you inside the company building. If your instructors say anything, tell them to speak directly to me,” Tiffany winks. 

Wendy’s smile all but mirrors her mother’s and Irene feels a little dazed herself. 

\--- 

“That was perfect. It couldn’t have gotten any better! Goodbye, longing looks across the room, hello remarried parents!” 

Wendy flops onto the hotel bed beside her that night, and Irene looks away from the TV to glance down at her. “Could you maybe keep it down, _Son Seungwan?”_ Irene sing-songs her new name, “I don’t want to get in trouble with hotel staff.” 

Wendy sticks out her tongue. “Who do you have to thank for such a nice room, anyway?” 

“Yeah, about that,” Irene looks equal parts amused, curious, and uncertain she even wants to know the answer, “how did you forge fake I.D’s on such late notice?” 

“I know a guy.” Wendy examines her nails and polishes them on her sweatshirt. “Anyway, we’re going to have to get up early before we meet them. We have to go shopping for clothes. Time travel probs: I couldn’t bring my closet with me.” 

“Okay,” Irene stifles a laugh, “and how are we breaking into the company, also? You can’t tell me that was in your time travel checklist before we got here.” 

“You just let me worry about that,” she answers breezily, and Irene really does laugh this time. 

“You amaze me.” She shakes her head. “You terrify me, and you amaze me.” 

“It’s in my genes,” Wendy counters lightly, rolling to trap her girlfriend beneath her, legs bracketing her hips, and Irene really, really doesn’t mind. “Wanna know what else is in my jeans?” 

“More bad puns, maybe?” Irene does her best to sound unaffected and cool, and it kind of works. Sort of. Until Wendy leans in close and breathes a chuckle against her mouth, brushing every word against her lips when she speaks. “Take another guess, genius.” 

“I-I don’t know,” Irene stammers, and it’s so, so dumb, the way she still gets this nervous around Wendy, but the eyes staring into hers are too dark for her to care right now. Wendy’s hovering above her but she’s still not close enough, and Irene fists a hand into her sweater, tugging her close. “You tell me.” 

Something shifts in Wendy’s gaze, and Irene thinks she knows what it is. 

“I’d love to, but I’d think you’d be more interested in what’s in my mom’s jeans, pervert.” Wendy counters with an eye roll, moving off of her and grabbing the abandoned remote on the comforter to start flipping through the channels. 

Irene thinks, and she’s totally, painfully, one hundred percent wrong. 

“Wendy -- ” 

“Are you sure you don’t mean to say ‘Jessica?’” 

“Aigoo,” Irene mutters, “I love you enough to _go back in time_ to help prevent your parents from breaking up. I’m sorry.” 

Wendy’s expression softens, just for a moment. 

“I love you too, Joohyun.” 

“It’s Irene.” 

“Do you really want to go there with me right now, Bae Joohyun?” 

Irene wisely shuts up.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Behave, you two,” Tiffany teases as she gets up to leave, and Irene shoots Wendy a glance with slightly raised eyebrows, as if to say, _you, too._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I see you, I appreciate you, so I finally got around to pumping this out. Thanks for reading!

“You said you had a _plan.”_

“It worked, didn’t it?” Wendy shoots back, and Irene holds a hand to the stitch in her side; if she complains about it, though, she knows all Wendy would do is scold her about being unhealthy, so she keeps her mouth shut.

“‘Sprint inside as soon as a group of trainees use their key cards to unlock the door and hope we don’t get caught’ isn’t a plan, it’s a lack of one,” Irene mutters anyway, but Wendy shushes her.

“Attitude gives you wrinkles,” she smirks, reaching over to smooth a finger over an invisible line on Irene’s forehead, “You should take the steps while you can to prevent premature aging, _unnie.”_

Irene flushes, meaning to swat her hand away -- but Wendy’s stubborn, and takes the opening to hold on and tangle their fingers together. “Stop that,” she frowns, making no movement to pull away. Wendy laughs, and even though her cheeks are burning, Irene’s heart sings at the sound.

“Flirt,” she accuses.

“Anyway,” Wendy grins, and Irene doesn’t even try to suppress her eye roll. “Let’s brief on the plan of action.” 

Irene wants to protest -- but they look suspicious enough as is, lingering inside the SM building with no foreseeable destination to go to, and drawing attention to themselves would be bad. Really, really bad. “Right,” she nods, “Remind me what step one was?”

Irene tries not to laugh at the receiving glare she gets. “I’m kidding. Step one was ‘establishing a relationship,’” she makes a face, remembering the detailed chart she had been presented with earlier, “which -- easier said than done. Your parents are idols, and as far as they know, we’re just trainees.”

“Trainees from their company,” Wendy reminds her, “You saw what they were like as soon as we said so.”

“I saw what your mom _Tiffany_ was like,” she corrects with a grimace; she’d definitely had a dream last night about being shot by lasers from Jessica’s glares.

“Yeah, about that.” Her girlfriend’s eyes narrow. “So you’re not too distracted to finish the mission, you’ll be working on Ma. I’ll try to warm up to Mom.”

“No offense,” Irene starts wryly, “but for the first time, I think Jessica likes you as much as she likes me.” She pauses. “Do I have to call her sunbae? This is confusing.”

“What’s wrong? You had no problem doing bowing ninety degrees when you met them for the first time,” Wendy bats her eyelashes, and Irene’s jaw drops in indignation.

“Excuse me. Excuse me. At least I didn’t bow over the phone when saying hello to your parents.”

It’s not often she gets the pleasure of seeing Wendy’s mouth open and close with no immediate comeback on her tongue, so Irene takes the moment to relish in it. 

“Good morning, kids!”

So much for going unnoticed, Irene thinks, a few heads turning to stare as Tiffany strolls over to meet them, eyes as bright as the morning sun. Beside her, Jessica has on a pair of dark sunglasses, and just the slightest nod of acknowledgement has Irene bowing low in greeting.

 _“Annyeonghaseyo,”_ she and Wendy offer in unison. 

Tiffany beams, and suddenly Irene realizes why Wendy’s the early riser between the two of them, ready for the day before Irene’s even gotten out of bed most days. It must run in the family, except -- her gaze flickers to Jessica again. Part of the family, anyway.

“You haven’t been waiting long, have you?” asks Tiffany, and Irene shakes her head.

“Great! I’m starving, let’s go eat.”

\---

The thing is, Irene knows she’s supposed to be charming Tiffany right now (if that’s, like, a conceivable thing she can actually do -- Irene still has her doubts, but Wendy’s counting on her), but Jessica’s the only one with her phone on the table and she keeps glancing at it every few minutes. It’s enough to pique her curiosity, but before she can ask, Tiffany nudges Jessica with her shoulder and sighs.

“Stop that. She’s in good hands,” she chastises. 

“You don’t know that,” Jessica counters, tapping the screen and frowning. 

“Is Wendy okay?” Irene asks hesitantly; Jessica’s eyes lift from her phone to look across the table at her. She almost wishes she was still wearing her sunglasses.

Tiffany cuts her off mid-indignant huff. “She’s grieving today’s babysitters,” the older woman explains, looking over at the two of them with a fond eye roll, “Seohyun is more than capable of handling a two year old.”

“Hyo’s with her. Hyo tried to give Seungwan a fauxhawk last time. A _fauxhawk.”_ Jessica shudders.

“Seohyun is more than capable of handling a two year old _and _our daughter,” Tiffany quips lightly.__

Wendy smiles into her orange juice, and Irene knows why. She’s heard all sorts of stories about aunt Hyoyeon in particular. 

“She must be very lucky,” Irene starts quietly, “to have so many people that love and care for her.” She feels Wendy’s gaze fall on her, searching her expression for any clues as to what she’s thinking, but she keeps her gaze settled on the two parents instead. 

It’s not that she has a bad relationship with her parents, per se. They’re just the kind of people that express their how they feel through small, consistent gestures. Irene doesn’t mind; there’s an _I love you_ whispered in every little thing -- the cup of tea her mom leaves out when she comes home from dance rehearsal sore and aching, or her favorite bread her dad picks up from the bakery and leaves on the kitchen counter for her to wake up to. 

It’s tangible, there and ever present, but Irene isn’t like Wendy, who has mothers that smother her in hugs and kisses when she goes away for summer camp. For one week. 

She wonders, sometimes, what it would be like if she was, if she’d be a different person than she is now; Irene wonders and drifts away in could be’s and maybe’s, but Wendy’s usually there by her side, ready to remind her with a soft kiss and words of promise that everything she is has always been enough. 

Wendy anchors her again, seeking her hand underneath the table, and Irene accepts instinctively, linking their fingers together and turning to shoot the girl a grateful smile. She squeezes three times in succession, steady and sure. 

Wendy blushes, and something warm and familiar flutters in Irene’s stomach. 

“Hmm,” a voice interrupts, and Irene glances over to see Tiffany leaning into Jessica’s side, her smile a full bloom that reminds her of spring. 

Even Jessica looks -- well, not happy, but not annoyed, either, which is a big improvement. Her gaze travels from Wendy to her, a piercing stare that makes Irene feel exposed, and she quickly looks down at her plate. 

“Seungwan,” Tiffany starts slowly, looking at her daughter with wide, imploring eyes; Irene almost laughs -- she knows where Wendy got that from now, too. “I’m going to go up front and order a small cheesecake for Seohyun and Hyoyeon for their trouble today, would you mind coming with?” Her eyes sparkle. “They have samples.” 

“Y-yes, of course,” Wendy answers quickly, standing up and brushing away invisible creases on her skirt. Irene would know -- she’d ironed the thing for her just this morning. 

Hwang-Jung Seungwan, Irene thinks. Kid genius, musical prodigy, all around overachiever. Can’t iron clothes to save her life. 

At least they balance each other out. 

“Behave, you two,” Tiffany teases as she gets up to leave, and Irene shoots Wendy a glance with slightly raised eyebrows, as if to say, _you, too._

She scoffs at the look Wendy gives her before she walks away, chatting animatedly with Tiffany by her side. The sight feels normal, so Irene smiles into her water. 

“So how long have you two been dating?” 

Irene spits out her water. 

She holds a napkin to her mouth for a moment longer than is probably necessary, putting it down and clenching her fists in her lap. Irene opens her mouth, only to realize she’s not sure what to say at all. 

“It’s okay,” Jessica tells her, unexpectedly soft, and Irene looks up in surprise, “Korea’s not as westernized as some people think.” Her voice goes distant, but her gaze is focused solely on Irene, giving her that feeling again that the designer can all but see through her soul, and her act. “Things aren’t as difficult as they were when I was a trainee, but I can’t imagine it’s easy for you.” There’s a brief pause before she continues. 

“If I wasn’t who I was when I came out -- if I wasn’t strong enough, I would’ve been ripped apart, “ she admits with a small, humorless smile. There’s a distinct shine to her eyes, though, a light at the end of a dark tunnel, and Irene almost envies it. She _does_ envy it. 

“I wouldn’t have been strong enough,” Jessica says quietly, “not without her.” 

“I -- ” Irene stammers dumbly, “She -- ” 

“Who knows,” Jessica replies mildly, twirling the straw in her iced tea, “Maybe you’re not even dating. But I’d recognize those looks anywhere.” 

Irene at least has the audacity to look embarrassed. 

“Why -- why are you telling me this?” she finally asks. 

“Because you’re young, and you might think you know what your priorities are, but until you’re put into a situation where it might be one or the other, you can’t really say you do,” Jessica answers bluntly, and Irene is reeling at the abrupt judgment when not five minutes ago, Jessica was almost comforting her about being a gay trainee. 

The words sting, however, and Irene feels her defenses rise. “She’s my best friend,” she shoots back, maybe with more bite than what’s appropriate. She’ll regret it later, she knows, but right now, Irene just doesn’t like the way Jessica thinks she knows about her and Wendy’s relationship. “It’s not your problem.” 

“You know, I pegged you as a harmless kitten,” Jessica’s eyebrows lift fractionally, impressed, and it’s not the response she would’ve guessed, “but it looks like you’re more tiger than house cat.” 

Irene flushes, and Jessica carries on in a drawl. 

“I’m not trying to upset you, so you can calm down. I’m just warning you that good things don’t come without struggle. You’re right, it’s not my problem, but for one reason or another, Tiff has taken a liking to you and your -- _friend,”_ Jessica says the last word with a bit of effort, the closest to an attempt to a _sorry_ she’ll get, Irene realizes. “So you see my predicament here.” 

Irene nods, letting the muscles in her jaw relax. 

“Sorry,” she apologizes, a beat later, “I spoke out of turn.” 

Jessica waves a hand. “I said worse when I was your age, don’t worry about it.” 

Her lips purse, and Irene’s shoulders drop, unsure if it’s really fine as Jessica adds, “Actually, there was something I wanted to ask -- ” 

Jessica’s phone suddenly lights up, vibrating noisily against the table, and Irene sees the screen flash an image of her with someone who looks strikingly similar. 

“Yah, what do you want?” Jessica holds the phone to her ear, mouthing an apology to Irene, who shakes her head to say it's okay as she spots Tiffany and Wendy heading back over to them. 

Wendy’s eyebrows furrow in confusion as she slides into the seat next to her, and Irene shrugs. 

“Hi Soojungie,” Tiffany says loudly into the phone after leaning in to kiss Jessica’s cheek. Dawning comprehension colors Wendy’s face as Irene notices the pile of boxes at her right. 

“What’re those?” Irene inquires, immediately suspicious. Wendy avoids her gaze directly. 

“You told me not to bake for, like, three days.” 

“So you bought four boxes of -- what are these?” 

“Cupcakes. Pies,” Wendy supplies, “I got your favorite, don’t worry.” 

“W -- Seungwan-ah,” she groans. Of course. Wendy’s never to be trusted in the baking aisle or anywhere with baked goods, for that matter. 

“It’s okay, Joohyun,” Tiffany placates her with another disarming smile, “I offered in the first place. You’ll just hide them well at the dorms, okay?” She wrinkles her nose. “I always hated those diets.” 

Well -- Irene nods, unable to really argue. It’s Tiffany, after all. 

When Jessica hangs up, she gives Tiffany a chagrined look as she stands. “I’m sorry,” she apologizes, “Soojung has an emergency, I have to go.” 

“Is everything alright?” Tiffany asks, alarmed. Jessica snorts. 

“That kid ripped a seam in a dress worth more than her life,” she sniffs, “if she’s alright, she’s not going to be when I’m done with her.” She grabs her purse and slings it over one shoulder, turning to look at Irene and Wendy. “Well. It was nice being woken up early on my day off to have brunch, kids.” 

“Jessi,” Tiffany hisses. 

“What?” 

She and Wendy move to stand, bowing low in goodbye. 

“Thank you for having us, sunbaenim,” Irene says. 

Jessica appears amused again. “For you, tiger, it’s unnie,” she rolls her eyes, and Irene’s not sure how she makes it come off as pleasant, friendly even. Jessica’s even warmer when she addresses Wendy. “You, too.” 

“If you ask me,” Tiffany says when Jessica’s left the restaurant, grinning in triumph, “she likes you. Now how about dessert?” 

\--- 

“We should recap later,” Wendy tells Irene when they reach the hotel lobby, after walking back from SM Entertainment where Tiffany had dropped them off, “right now, though, I want to nap.” 

“Of course you do,” she laughs, “you had three slices of cake on top of what was bought for you.” 

“We’re on limited resources, I’m budgeting.” 

“More like scamming your mom out of free food.” 

“Is it scamming if she’s willing, though?” Wendy wonders. 

“You give that thought and get back to me, why don’t you,” teases Irene, stopping just short of the elevator. She presses the button for her and takes a step back. “I’ll join you later, okay? I want to stop by that store around the corner.” 

Wendy frowns. “What, why?” 

“Just wanna pick up some stuff,” she answers vaguely as the ding of the elevator chimes and she gently pushes her girlfriend forward, “I need the walk, too. I’m stuffed.” 

“So nap with me.” Wendy’s close to pouting, and Irene bites back a smile. “Joint food coma.” 

“Later,” she promises, waving as the door closes. Irene wraps her coat tightly around her body and braces herself for the cold outside as she exits the lobby, pushing the door open before -- 

“Oh!” and “Sorry!” 

Irene offers her hand to the -- amazingly shorter -- girl, helping her up to her feet before reaching over to lifting her suitcase back onto the baggage cart it was on before she had bumped into it. “Sorry,” Irene says again, giving the stranger a once over. 

She’s young, which is the first thing Irene thinks, and really pretty, which is the second thing. 

“It’s okay,” the girl tells her with a wide, toothy smile, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear, “Probably shouldn’t have pretended I was going through Platform 9 and ¾.” 

“Maybe not,” Irene smiles back, feeling at ease already, “Do you need help bringing it up?” She hasn’t seen her hanging out in the lobby before, and well, she does have a suitcase on her. “I could help, or… wait with you until your parents get here…?” 

The girl’s face drops, and by the time Irene finishes blinking, her expression is cleared. “No, thank you,” she says kindly, but the words are stiff. Irene nods -- it’s not her business to ask. 

“Okay,” she replies as neutrally as she can, still trying to appear friendly, “I’ll be going, then. Maybe I’ll see you around.” 

\--- 

She’s barely able to slide the key card into the door and close it shut behind her with her hip, jostling plastic bags in her hands as she steps into the room. 

“Still knocked out, huh,” Irene directs casually at Wendy’s immobile form, sprawled over their bed and snoring. Her heart _thumps_ loudly, reminding her where it belongs. 

She places the bags by the bed, digging into one of them and finding a bottle of water and a small package of medicine. 

“You’re going to have a stomach ache when you wake up,” she sighs, placing them by the nightstand. Irene looks over at her girlfriend, oblivious to the world with drool coming out of the corner of her mouth. 

“I bet you forgot, didn’t you? You did,” Irene snorts, “Babo.” She brushes her hair away from her face. “Beautiful and smart with an Achilles heel of ironing boards and baked goods. Hmph.” 

Irene slides under the covers, lifting a limp arm and wrapping it around her waist. Wendy burrows closer in her sleep, her warmth touching her from head to toe. She lets her eyes drift shut, content. 

“That’s okay. I don’t mind taking care of you.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully the next chapter doesn't take me half a year.... haha.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I thought you told me good things never came without struggle,” defends Irene.
> 
> Jessica looks up at that, meeting her gaze cautiously.

It’s quiet, for one, which is how Irene begins to suspect something’s wrong.

“Wendy.” Another thing, Irene notices, is how her eyes peer off into the distance, dull and without their usual shine. Irene touches her shoulder; she wants to hold her hand, but it’s the middle of the day, and they’re taking a walk around a nearby park with dozens of people around.

“It’s been a week,” she laments, frustration grating into her tone, “It’s been a week, and we’ve hardly gotten any further than we did the first few days.”

Irene bites the inside of her cheek, frowning, before tugging at Wendy’s elbow. She guides them to a nearby bench and sits down beside her, feeling the weight of her shoulder leaning against hers.

“It’s been _a_ week,” Irene points out, as gently as she can; she can feel Wendy deflate against her, like all hope has been sucked out of her like a sad balloon, and she tries to choose her words a little more carefully. “We have a couple more, don’t we? And besides, it takes time to build trust. Your parents aren’t going to tell us everything right away.”

She pauses, licking chapped lips and wishing the bitter winter cold would give way to better weather. “We’re making ground, you know?” She forces her voice to be airy. “Jessica doesn’t look at me like I’m something at the bottom of her shoe anymore.”

Wendy snorts. “Progress,” she deadpans, but there’s a stirring of light in her eyes, a streak of sun through gray clouds.

“With her? In any timeline, I’d call it a miracle.”

“I just feel like we should be doing more. There’s only so far we can go pretending to be starstruck trainees,” mutters Wendy, “Something needs to happen.” She furrows her brow and holds her chin in her hand, deep in thought, and _oh,_ Irene thinks, she knows that look.

That look, she remembers all too well, had gotten them here to begin with.

“Something to make them react…” Irene’s sure she can see the cogs turn in Wendy’s brain. She could probably wave a hand in front of her face and come up short of a reaction, if she wanted. “A catalyst… a -- I’ve got it!”

“We should fight!”

“We should do no such thing,” Irene counters immediately, making a face, “How do you come up with these things in that head of yours?”

“Listen,” Wendy starts, earnest and fast, like how she usually gets when she’s wound up about something, “We’re the variable. The only thing that’s changed in my parents’ lives in the past is us. There’s a stake there. If we’re fighting -- ”

“They’ll drop everything and come running like mother hens?” Irene grimaces. “Wendy, think about this.”

“I am. They need a common goal, and this is it.”

She shakes her head. “No. No, I’m not doing this.” Irene glances at her wristwatch, eyeing the clouds above them before realizing the sun isn’t going to come out anytime soon. It’s almost noon. “Listen, I have to go meet with Tiffany. I asked her to help me practice vocals.”

She thinks of sneaking inside the SM building again, because they hadn’t really discovered a way otherwise. Irene sighs.

“We’ll figure it out, okay? Together,” she emphasizes firmly, reaching over and squeezing her hand quickly before standing up and retying her scarf. “I’ll meet you back at the hotel later.”

\---

“Better. You’re doing really well, Joohyun-ah, take a break.”

Irene accepts the water bottle Tiffany hands her with a grateful smile, if not a little shy. She had been in choir in grade school, but she was never really a singer, not like the way Wendy is. Not like the way Tiffany and Jessica are.

“Seungwan’s told me about you, you know.”

Her elbow accidentally hits the piano keys she had been playing just moments before, and she flushes, both out of embarrassment and something else.

“Oh?” replies Irene, far too relieved that she doesn’t stammer. She plays at the corners of the water bottle label to give her hands something to do other than fidget in her lap.

Tiffany’s eyes turn to crescents, and Irene wonders how many people have looked into them and immediately thought they were screwed. A generation, she’s sure.

“What did she say?” Irene prompts again, because Tiffany is beautiful -- there’s no contesting that -- but just the mention of Wendy talking about her still makes her feel vulnerable, but not in a bad way. She just thinks some days she’s still getting used to the feeling.

“I guess I asked about you two, to be truthful,” admits Tiffany, “I’ve been told I can be a little nosy. It’s just that Seungwan seems so familiar to me, and you, ah -- ”

Her heart jumps to her throat, but Irene wills herself to calm down. Tiffany isn’t any the wiser than she was in the beginning about who they really are.

“You always seem like you’re looking out for her,” she finishes, too kindly, “I was just curious. She had nothing but good things to say about you.” Tiffany pauses, as if she’s choosing her words very carefully. “You’re best friends, then?”

Irene thinks of Seulgi, who had wrapped her in a hug -- and she’d never really been one for skinship, which made it mean even more -- when she had first admitted she might like the new girl with the blue dip dye hair and laugh that sounded like bells.

“One of them,” she affirms quietly, but with conviction; Irene looks up at Tiffany, looking at her, “She’s my best friend, but she’s also…” She stops.

“She cares for me, too,” Irene continues, feeling the heat in her face as she talks, “She cares for everyone. She’s always thinking about others’ happiness. I think -- ” She swallows. “I think that’s what I like best about her. And when she sings.”

“What about when she sings?” Tiffany asks.

“You feel it. You feel it when she sings. Every word. You feel it everywhere.”

Tiffany glances down, almost imperceptibly, to her left hand. Irene’s eyes follow her gaze toward the metal band there.

“I know what you mean.”

\---

Irene opens the door of the hotel room to the smell of spicy ramyun, which is something Wendy usually only makes when she’s really strapped for time. Which doesn’t make sense, considering she was supposed to have a clear schedule today.

“You’re back late,” the shorter girl observes, untying her apron and setting it aside. Irene places her bag by the door and steps forward.

“Yeah. Tiffany’s working on a new ballad, did you know? I got a sneak peek.”

“I always knew you were my mother’s favorite,” Wendy mutters, and Irene grins, “Are you hungry? I saved some for you.”

“No, I’m okay,” she takes a look around at the dishes, “Didn’t feel up to cooking today?”

It’s an innocent enough question, but suddenly, Wendy won’t meet her eyes, and Irene’s playful smile slowly disappears.

“Is everything okay?” She takes another step forward, one hand already reaching out. “If this is about earlier, we can sit down and make a plan, it’s really not a big -- ”

“I told my mom we were fighting.”

Irene’s hand immediately falls, but she doesn’t take a step back. “What? Why would you do that?”

“I didn’t _decide_ to,” Wendy says quickly, eyes widening and pooling with guilt, but it doesn’t stop the churning in Irene’s gut, “I called her, to ask about a couple things, maybe try to see if she could fit me in her schedule to see soon since she’s got a big show coming up, and it just happened.”

Whatever it was in her stomach hardens into something heavy, like a lead weight. She feels a little sick, too. “‘It just happened,’ huh?” Irene replies, voice a bit too clipped, a bit too controlled.

“Look, I know what I said earlier,” Wendy’s face falls into something between a grimace and a wince, “but I wouldn’t have purposefully done this behind your back.”

She knows Wendy’s right, is the thing. Her girlfriend is ambitious, driven, and smart enough to take an opening when it’s there -- but she’s not unfair. Irene knows that, but there’s a pounding at the back of her skull and she’d just about sung the other girl’s praises to one of her moms while Wendy told another that they’re _fighting_ now, so it’s all sort of jumbled now, both in her head and her heart.

“How far do you plan on taking this?” Irene asks instead, staring at a spot on Wendy’s shoulder because she can’t bring herself to look her in the eyes again, not yet.

If she was looking, she’d have seen Wendy’s wounded look, the way she looks hurt more than upset at Irene’s choice of words. As it is, she misses it.

“Don’t be like that.”

“Be like what?” Irene pinches the skin at the bridge of her nose. Her headache is only getting worse. “Like I just got roped into an even bigger mess?”

“A mess?” Wendy’s voice turns sharp. “Is that what you consider my parents’ marriage?”

Irene looks up and sees the wall build up in Wendy’s eyes, and it does nothing to alleviate her frustration. “I didn’t say that.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“That some consideration would be nice.” She’s louder, now, not to the point of yelling, but definitely above her normal volume. “I get it, how could I _not_ get what we’re here for, but you shouldn’t forget about us.”

Wendy’s jaw is tight. “I’m not choosing between you and my parents.”

“I’m not asking you to.” Irene fights back a shiver, and hides the angry burn in the corners of her eyes, even more so the way her very body rejects her the moment she starts to back away toward the door, everything in her screaming to stay. “I’m asking you to open your eyes, try being considerate.”

She leaves anyway.

\---

It’s snowing.

She hadn’t grabbed anything on her way out, so Irene zips her jacket all the way up and hopes it does enough good.

She walks a few loops around the park before she stops in her tracks in front of the bench she and Wendy had sat on together earlier today. Irene purses her lips together at the pang in her chest that tells her to stop being so stubborn and go back up to the hotel.

What did her heart know, anyway? Irene wants to ask it, cross. _What good have you done, making me follow a girl -- who won’t even talk to me now, probably -- into the past on an impossible mission?_

Something hard and wet slaps the side of her head, and that, Irene thinks, is a crap answer.

“What was that for?” She wheels around, trying to pinpoint the culprit while brushing away snow off her clothes. A slight figure steps into view, wearing a wicked grin. Irene frowns. She knows that face.

“I figured if you were going to look like such a grump, you may as well have a reason.”

“Who says I don’t have a reason?” Irene shoots back, not even trying to mask her irritation. It’s not a conversation she really wants to have again so soon, though, so she fires off another question to steer them in another direction. “Where have you been, anyway? I haven’t seen you in the lobby for a few days now.”

The girl’s face falls, but her expression hurriedly fixes itself like it usually does when Irene says something unknowingly and bothers her somehow. She thinks of the few and far talks she’s had with her in the lobby during the past week -- she had even met Wendy once -- but she still doesn’t know much about her.

“It was temporary,” she tells Irene, “I stay somewhere else now.”

“Must be close, if you’re able to spend time hunting down strangers in a park to pelt them with snowballs,” Irene responds dryly.

“Not strangers,” she shakes her head, her pigtails swaying each way she moves, “Just you.”

“You’re a weird kid, you know?” Irene rolls her eyes, and the girl laughs.

“My friends back home remind me all the time,” she announces, like she’s proud. Irene doesn’t doubt that she is, actually.

“Oh, good.” She lifts her gaze up to the sky, passive. “You have friends. I wasn’t sure.”

She laughs again, and Irene finds herself chuckling along.

“Oh!” The girl looks surprised, then begins to walk backwards, keeping her eyes on Irene. “Looks like someone came looking for you. I’ll see you later, unnie. Smile more! Don’t be so grumpy next time!”

She waves before running off, and Irene blinks. _Unnie…?_

“Joohyun?”

\---

“You should be more conscientious, Joohyun. It’s freezing out.”

Irene ducks her head low in apology. “I’m sorry.”

Jessica clucks her tongue, before sighing and giving her a small, reassuring smile.

“Drink up.” She looks pointedly at the untouched hot chocolate in front of her, hands cupped around her own cup of coffee. “I’ll forgive you then.”

Irene nods and gets to work. The marshmallows are soft and melt on her tongue, and the cocoa warms her insides and alleviates some of the bitter cold that has numbed the skin around her face and hands.

“If you don’t mind me asking, unnie,” Irene starts slowly, watching the way Jessica’s smile seems to widen at the honorific, and she tries not to stare too long, “What were you doing out, anyway?”

“Me?” Jessica takes another sip of her coffee. “I was actually on my way home. Well, on my way here, and then home.” She holds up her cup. “They make really good drinks here. It’s a family-owned business, and I’ve been coming here since I was a trainee, so…”

She drifts off, and Irene’s not really thinking about prying for information when she asks, “Did you come here with Tiffany unnie?”

The older woman seems taken aback for a moment, before she nods, her smile waning like a flickering light bulb. “You’re right. Tiffany and I would come here all the time.” She stares down at her drink, her eyes peering into the whipped cream and coffee as though it holds answers for questions left unasked. “I’m a little old to keep ordering such sweet drinks, but…”

“Did you order them with Tiffany unnie?”

Jessica arches an eyebrow. “You’re full of questions today,” she remarks lazily, but there’s no scolding anywhere in her tone. “I did.”

“Then you’re not too old, then,” Irene replies, tilting her head, “if it’s something you did when you were young -- ah, younger -- ” She flushes, and Jessica makes a noise between a sigh and a laugh. “ -- and together, and you’re just keeping the tradition alive… you can never be too old for that.”

She sets down her drink. “Are traditions always good, though?” Jessica inquires, and Irene’s not sure if she’s even really looking for an answer, or even talking to her at all. “They can’t be if they start to get troublesome.”

“I thought you told me good things never came without struggle,” defends Irene.

Jessica looks up at that, meeting her gaze cautiously.

“I did,” she admits with a frown, “but if anything makes you unhappy 51% of the time, even if you’re happy the other 49%.... that needs some reevaluation, too.”

They fall into a long lapse of silence after that, and Irene’s not sure if it’s comfortable or uncomfortable, but she doesn’t even notice the jingle of the bell at the front entrance chime until there’s a voice calling out, getting closer and closer to the back of the cafe where she and Jessica are.

 _“Jessi,_ where on earth have you -- oh, Joohyun-ah.”

Tiffany blinks back her surprise just as Jessica cuts in.

“I ran into the kid on my way back,” she explains, “Found her mid-transformation into an icicle and decided she needed something warm before sending her on her way.”

“Oh,” Tiffany’s wandering gaze is accessing, examining Irene from top to bottom in a way that would make her uneasy, were it not for the fact she’s used to a mothering Tiffany, even in her time. “It’s only going to get colder from here on out, Joohyun. And you’re not even wearing proper clothes.” Her voice turns stern. “What would your parents say?”

She’s pretty sure she’s not supposed to answer that, in the way adults never really want an answer when they’re trying to prove a point and drive home the guilt, so she stays quiet as Tiffany turns back to her wife.

“You said you were going to be home by eight.” Her voice is quieter now when it’s directed at Jessica, void of scolding and full of a sort of sad disappointment instead. It makes Irene wish it wasn’t there at all as soon as she hears it. “Seungwan kept calling for you.”

Jessica’s voice is equally soft. “Was she the only one?”

Tiffany looks stricken. “Jessi…”

“Steph,” Jessica interjects, that same worried, small smile on her lips when Irene had asked about them coming into the cafe together as trainees, “Let’s just go home, okay? Who did you leave her with?”

“Tae,” Tiffany answers, helping Jessica into her coat as she stands. “Seungwan was already asleep by the time I got her on the phone, which is probably why she agreed to begin with…”

Jessica rolls her eyes fondly. “How about you, kid?” she switches her gaze back over at Irene, who jumps in her seat, startled at the sudden inclusion. She thinks, for a moment, both of them did forget she was there. “Ready to head back to the dorms?”

Irene thinks of the walk back from the dorms to the hotel and stifles a frown. “Yeah.” She stands up as Jessica walks over to the front first to pay. “Tiffany unnie?”

“Mmm?” Tiffany smiles at her, but Irene can see the dark circles under her eyes. She wonders when was the last time the singer got a good night’s sleep.

“What drink would you normally get with Jessica unnie here? When you were trainees?”

Tiffany’s smile is shining this time, and it makes Irene smile back instantly.

“Caramel coffee.”

\---

Her skin is still stinging from the cold when she slides into bed, not even bothering to turn on the lights to guide her way there. Irene finds a body already curled on her side of the bed, hair mussed and a crease line already forming on her face from the pillow.

It’s the most beautiful thing she’s seen all day -- at the end of her day, no less, but Irene would wait longer to see it if she had to, if only for the warmth that envelops her inside and out when she hugs Wendy from behind and pulls her close.

“I’m not 51% unhappy with you. I’m not,” Irene whispers into the dark, eyes squeezing shut tight.

“Irene?” Wendy’s voice is thick with sleep. “Irene, what time is it? Why are you so cold? Are you okay? I’m s -- ”

“Stop,” Irene hushes her, and Wendy falls silent. “Stop. I love you. I’m sorry. I’m with you. I love you so much and I’m with you in this until the very end.”

Wendy’s breaths are slow and even, so she’s sure she’s fallen back asleep, and it’s not long, too, until she’s on the edge of sleep herself.

Irene doesn’t know if it’s a dream or not when Wendy whispers, “I love you back, you know,” but it doesn’t matter in the end, because she knows it’s real no matter what.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday, Red Velvet! 
> 
> A month-late update is still better than a six month wait, right? ... Right?
> 
> This chapter caused me a bit of trouble, so feel free to comment or tweet me [here](https://twitter.com/downtochemicals) and let me know what you think! Thanks for reading, as always.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The woman -- Sooyoung -- blinks back and then squints at the two of them. “You’re -- ”
> 
> “Jessica sunbaenim’s!” Wendy shouts, and Irene winces at her volume and how close it is to her ears. “I mean, not hers, but visitors. Of hers.”
> 
> Sooyoung bobs her head in a nod. “Cool,” she replies, nonchalant. Irene notices for the first time that she has several take out bags on her arms, as she goes to unload them on the table by the couch. “I left my drink with some kid. Watch my food.”

She wakes with a heaviness behind her eyelids that can’t mean anything good, and an empty space on the other side of the bed. Irene holds a hand to her mouth to cover a yawn and finds herself more preoccupied with the latter for now.

“Wendy?” Her voice is low and raspy, and Irene forces herself to squint in the direction of sunlight where Wendy is busy with a steaming kettle and two cups set out on the counter.

“In a minute,” she calls, a touch softer than she would in the morning, and the memory of last night floods back to her with a sinking sensation in her chest. “Tea’s almost ready.”

Irene hesitates, just for a moment, before asking, “Can it wait?” And there must be something in her tone, too, because Wendy finally turns and looks at her in a way that has her heart jumping to her throat. “It’ll go cold, but… can it wait?” Her mouth opens and closes, then opens again. “You’re too far away right now.”

That’s all it takes for Wendy to hurry over, sitting on the edge of the bed and pushing Irene’s hair away from her face, fingers skimming against her skin in a way that has Irene staring.

“You’re warm,” she murmurs, even though she’s the one with the blush painting her cheeks a rosy pink.

“You’re cold,” Irene counters quietly, using one arm to prop herself up on her elbow. She uses the other to thread her fingers through Wendy’s, looking down at the way they fit together. Wendy does feel cold, but she has been rustling around their room for a bit while _she’s_ dozing away under thick blankets. “Yesterday -- ”

“ -- was a mistake,” Wendy finishes for her firmly, “I didn’t mean to get carried away, and I definitely didn’t mean to accuse you of trying to make me choose. I’m sorry.”

“I shouldn’t have walked out on you,” mumbles Irene, “I won’t do it again.”

“Okay. Good. Forgiven.” There’s a fleeting wave of relief that passes through her eyes and Irene never, ever wants Wendy to have to worry about it happening again. She thinks just the fact her parents are still so obviously in love but so stubbornly apart must be awful for Wendy as their daughter, but it has to be scary all on its own, too, because how could two people in love not be together in the end?

The question echoes in her mind, hazy but there, and Irene struggles to hold onto it and wrap her thoughts around it into something else, because she knows it’s meaningful but she doesn’t know _how._

How, Irene thinks dumbly. _How_ could two people in love not be together in the end?

“Wendy,” Irene starts, a new sense of urgency overtaking her. She sits upright suddenly, which startles her girlfriend a little. “We never figured out why your parents separated, right? But you could know _how.”_

Wendy’s eyebrows knit together in thought. “I’m not following.”

“Do we have a laptop? Or a tablet?” Her eyes dart around the room, searching the corners and the cabinet holding up the TV, as though there’s one just waiting for her in there. “Oh, but.” Irene’s teeth worry her lower lip. “You didn’t happen to program anything with an algorithm to, like… bypass time and let us access the Internet from the future, did you?”

“I’m a genius.” Wendy deadpans. “Not a magician.”

“You built a time machine in one week,” Irene reminds her.

“You flatter me,” scoffs Wendy, who’s clearly enjoying the praise, “No, I haven’t done anything of the sort. Let’s just get from Point A to Point B before we go back home and I sell the rights to whoever pays the most. Then I’ll work on your algorithm to let you go online from whatever year, though I heard the age of dial-up was a dark time.” She pauses a second. “What is it you want, anyway?”

“Tabloids,” Irene answers quickly, “Or to be more accurate, reference points.”

Her jaw drops and Irene doesn’t miss a beat. “We came back in the winter because your parents broke up around this month, right? How do you know that?”

“I cross referenced their names into a database dating back from the year I was born.” Wendy replies slowly. “Their publicists released a statement mid-January. It was our best bet. They wouldn’t have had much time to move their things out of their shared place, and -- ”

“And?” Irene presses. Wendy might have only been two years old at the time, too young to remember anything, but there’s a chance she’d have been around people -- other than Jessica and Tiffany -- who did.

“And my aunt Krystal was there,” Wendy breathes out, looking to Irene with wide eyes, “That’s why I was surprised when she called during breakfast. Because it wouldn’t have made sense, since she was already living back in San Francisco at the time. But she was there -- she’s _here_ \-- because one of Mom’s models quit last minute and she offered to fly in and help wherever she could.”

“Your mom needed a replacement,” Irene repeats, trying to put all the pieces on the board before putting the puzzle together, “for the -- ”

“-- for the opening of her store in New York,” she finishes, “The model quit because she had aviophobia, and almost everyone in the big show was being flown in in advance. I thought my aunt Krystal just met her in New York for the opening, but I asked her once about my parents’ break up, and I remember her saying how hard it was to book a new hotel after they were due to check out of their first, because they stayed in the city after the show instead of flying immediately back like everyone else.” 

Wendy shakes her head. “I hadn’t thought anything of it, but if they had to find another place to stay -- ”

“-- then they must not have planned for it,” Irene rubs the back of her neck. “So the window of time to gauge exactly when your parents broke up is between the first flight out and the New York opening. That’s good. That’s our reference point.” Wendy’s face is troubled, and Irene starts for her, needs to do something to change the stormy expression into clear skies. “What is it?”

“It’s just.” She goes quiet. “My aunt Krystal also said my mom spent a week in the U.S. with her after it happened. She said she didn’t leave her room for three days.”

Irene reaches for Wendy and tips her index finger just under her chin to lift her head toward hers. 

“Well. No time like the present to change the future.”

\---

Jessica is -- according to her assistant who ushers them inside the headquarters of her entire fashion line -- running around, somewhere, like a chicken with its head cut off, which is “grossly inhumane to use in comparison for someone who is frantic and _not_ on the verge of imminent death,” according to Wendy, and -- well, just plain _gross,_ according to Irene.

“Do you make it your life’s goal to harass as many people as possible?” Irene wonders out loud as she lounges on a too comfortable chair -- it even spins.

“Goal, no. Habit, yes,” Wendy answers proudly. She looks around the spare office they’ve been directed to wait in while someone -- probably a poor intern -- tries to first locate Jessica and then not evoke her wrath by mentioning she has visitors. “I’m glad in the future Mom cares more about the aesthetic of her spare rooms. This wall color is tragic with the furniture.”

“Are you going to add _interior decorator_ to your resume now?” asks Irene dryly.

“I might add _single_ if you keep making fun of me,” Wendy shoots back sweetly, and Irene chuckles fondly as the door flies open with the impressive force of the woman behind it.

“Who are you?” blinks Irene, nonplussed.

“Oh my _God,_ how _old_ are you, I didn’t know I was dating someone _geriatric,”_ Wendy hisses in a low whisper, bolting upright from her seat only to execute a perfect ninety degree bow. “Sooyoung sunbaenim, annyeonghaseyo!” 

Irene would take the time to grumble that not everyone is as well versed in pop culture as, say, the daughter of two of some of the most prominent pop icons in Korea, but she knows enough to recognize Wendy’s tone and what it means. She straightens and then offers an equally deep bow. “Annyeonghaseyo.” 

The woman -- Sooyoung -- blinks back and then squints at the two of them. “You’re -- ”

“Jessica sunbaenim’s!” Wendy shouts, and Irene winces at her volume and how close it is to her ears. “I mean, not hers, but visitors. Of hers.”

Sooyoung bobs her head in a nod. “Cool,” she replies, nonchalant. Irene notices for the first time that she has several take out bags on her arms, as she goes to unload them on the table by the couch. “I left my drink with some kid. Watch my food.”

The door closes and Wendy exhales. “‘Who are you? Who are you?!’” she quietly yells, if that’s a thing -- which if it is, Wendy’s certainly accomplished it, Irene thinks. “What was _that?”_

“At least you know I never used you for your connections?” Irene supplies, and Wendy rolls her eyes.

“She’s not even an inactive idol in our time. She’s still doing films. Remember that one about the businesswoman who ends up leaving the male lead because he’s actually a jerk?”

“Oh,” Irene thinks back, then nods in affirmation, “I liked that one. She’s really good.”

“Really good, she says,” Wendy sighs, but it’s over exaggerated on purpose this time, and Irene grins.

The door opens again, gentler this time, but that might be because Sooyoung’s trying not to spill her drink. She doesn’t bother to close it, and since there’s no way to continue the conversation with her in the room, Irene doesn’t see the point to mind.

The room grows quiet, the only consistent noises being the opening of take out boxes and the occasional slurp of a drink that gives a pause before the older woman begins to stuff her face again. 

It’s pretty impressive. Irene wonders where it all goes, casting occasional curious glances as box after box piles up, one finished after the other, and Sooyoung doesn’t slow her pace. Really impressive, actually.

“I’m starting to rethink calling Fany the pig,” a voice to her right interrupts, a slender woman who leans against the doorway with her arms crossed. “You look really disgusting right now, unnie.”

Irene’s eyes catch Wendy’s for a moment, who begins to rise from her seat once more, just as the woman raises her hand to stop her. “Please don’t,” she laughs, “I ran into Jessica unnie on the second floor. She’ll be up soon and she already knows you’re here. She told me who you are.” 

Her eyes roam over them appreciatively, taking them in, but Irene is oddly at ease. She has a kindness to her that makes it hard to feel uncomfortable.

“Call me Yoona unnie,” she says warmly, before walking over to Sooyoung and rifling through the unopened boxes. “Oh good, you bought food for everyone.”

“Everyone?” Sooyoung’s cheeks are bulging with rice. “This was supposed to be just mine.”

“You skipped a grade and never learned how to share, didn’t you?” Yoona asks loftily, reaching over her and handing chopsticks over to Irene and Wendy. She takes them just to be polite, even though she’s had zero appetite all day, and looks quizzically at Wendy and then at Sooyoung as if to say, _shorter girlfriends first._

Yoona saves them the trouble by sliding onto the couch first, using her thighs as a battering ram to forcibly push Sooyoung and make room. Wendy sits beside her, and Irene settles in next after that, on the other end of the couch.

Bits of meat and vegetable begin to disappear into three sets of mouths, but Wendy quickly turns to her, eyebrows raised in silent inquiry. Irene just shakes her head and leans a bit of her weight onto her. She really isn’t all that hungry.

They’re halfway through a box of take out -- or, to put it more accurately, Wendy and Yoona are halfway through a box of take out when there’s a click of heels and a very worn looking Jessica appearing in the room.

“Hey, kids,” she offers, looking them over. “Hey, pig,” she directs at Sooyoung.

Sooyoung responds with an impressively accurate pig’s snort that makes Jessica laugh.

“Yah, if we get ants in here….” Jessica trails off warningly.

Sooyoung doesn’t so much as pause, chopsticks still working food into her mouth. “Relax,” she says through a mouthful, closing a now empty box and neatly folding her chopsticks over it. She reaches for a napkin and wipes it over her mouth. “Is that how you talk to the person treating you and Fany to dinner tonight?”

“Perhaps I was wrong,” Jessica amends good naturedly, eyes lighting up. “Are you a cow, because how else would you have four stomachs?”

Sooyoung, to her credit, doesn’t answer in another animal noise. “It’s a gift,” she replies. “Are you ready to go, or -- ” She cuts herself off at a glance toward Irene and Wendy, as though she’d just remembered again that they were there. “Are they coming, too? Yoona already invited herself as soon as she heard the words ‘free meat.’”

“It’s a gift,” Yoona grins.

Jessica rolls her eyes, but it’s without question that she softens a bit when she looks at the two girls. Irene’s heard that they called Jessica an ice princess back in the day, but at the moment, she can’t imagine why.

“We’ll see if you’re hungry after we pick up Tiff,” she tells them. “She has another broadcast performance today, and it’s going to start soon, so we’d better get going.”

\---

They go in through the back, because the combination of Jessica, Sooyoung, and Yoona wouldn’t come without unwanted attention; it’s also because of the rookie groups just entering at the front, and Sooyoung quickly gestures for all of them to go the other way because they’ve had enough cameras flashed in their faces for a lifetime, but for some of these newer groups, it still feels like a rush every time their names are called.

Tiffany’s literally about to go up on stage, so they wait as far back as they can, out of eyesight from the adoring crowd shouting fanchant after fanchant. The artist before is just finishing his solo, and Irene thinks she has enough time to sneak off to the bathroom and splash some water on her face and come back in time.

“Don’t be late, it’s gonna be a good one,” Wendy tells her, like she’s just another fan, and it makes Irene aim a bright smile at her before she’s off, walking down the halls and alongside harassed crews hurrying by. 

The lights are harsher in the hallway, and they feel hotter, too, causing beads of sweat to drip down her neck and soak into her collar. Irene pulls at the fabric, thinking it much more uncomfortable than it had been when she put it on this morning.

“Hey! What’re you doing here?”

She immediately tries to place the familiar voice to who it belongs to -- but her thoughts are disconnected and jumbled, broken bits of thread that won’t come together. Irene falls back against the wall and blinks, the vision of the person in front of her becoming distorted and blurry.

“Are you okay?”

The last thing she remembers is the feeling of thin but strong arms trying to hold her up, keep her head from cracking against the linoleum floor as she falls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it all coming together or getting more confusing...? Bit of both? Thanks for reading, anyway. (:


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Seungwan’s always here,” Tiffany offers back in reply, “Joohyun might not be awake, but she’s always here.”
> 
> “Well,” Jessica drawls, “We both have our theories about those two.” She leans down and coos to her daughter playfully. “Those unnies are really funny, aren’t they, Seungwannie?”

“Well, don’t sit up _too_ quickly.”

Irene blinks, turning her head to locate the chastising voice and finding relieved wide eyes instead. Her head hurts, but it’s a faint throb at the base of her skull.

“You’re heavier than you look, you know,” the girl tells her pointedly, filling up a paper cup with water from her bedside -- is she in a _hospital?_ \-- to hand to Irene, helping her sit up slowly and carefully. “I stopped you from hitting the floor, but you knocked your head pretty hard into the wall.”

She drinks greedily, soothing a parched throat that feels like she’s gone long without having anything. There are machines hooked up to her and the steady _beep, beep_ of her heart rate monitor that fills the silence with its noise. 

“What happened?” she asks, finally, after her second cup. She licks her lips and runs her tongue along the chapped skin there, trying not to worry it with her teeth too much.

“Aside from you passing out backstage and giving everyone a heart attack?” she responds dryly, “Not much.” She reaches up and clasps her hands together, making a show of stretching. “Wendy unnie left an hour or so ago to go shower and get something to eat that doesn’t taste plastic.” 

She stares at Irene, an odd glint in her eye, and not for the first time, the older girl wishes she knew her _name._ They’d never bothered with formalities, though Irene supposes it made sense by now that the girl called her unnie the last time they had met.

And then Irene stills. She knew Wendy’s name.

“Irene unnie,” the girl hums, holding her chin thoughtfully, “What trouble have you been getting yourself into?”

Her heart monitor goes erratic, and Irene thinks fast, ripping the transmitter on her finger away. They don’t have much time, and her eyes dart toward the door, and then toward an open window. She wants to groan when she sees the tops of a leafy looking tree -- she can’t jump from there.

The girl places her hand on Irene’s, firm and warm.

“You are.... aren’t you?” she speaks, a little in awe, though it does nothing to ease the whine of panic settling into Irene’s lungs, “You talk in your sleep, you know, and I thought you were just having some crazy dreams, but then Wendy unnie didn’t notice once when I came to see you and the _things_ she said to you….” 

“Who are you?” Irene asks, as sharply as she can, and the girl freezes.

“That’s not imp -- ”

“Ah, Kim Yerim!” a stern, but kindly looking nurse approaches them both with hands on her hips. “You know you should’ve brought one of the nurses in here if she’s woken up.” The nurse harrumphs for a moment before refocusing her attention on Irene, tacking the transmitter onto her finger again in half a second. Her heart rate returns to the monitor screen, still going at a faster pace than normal.

“You’ve had a lot of visitors these past two days,” the nurse tells her while pressing cool hands along her neck, forehead, and cheeks. She jerks her head toward the small girl beside her. “We have to forcibly kick this one out after visiting hours, and that Son Seungwan, too.”

“Seungwan unnie thinks curfews are overrated, too,” the girl -- Yerim -- says solemnly.

The nurse sticks around for a bit longer, checking Irene’s vitals and scribbling them onto a clipboard before telling her that her doctor is out for lunch, but he’ll be in to look over her later. The door closes behind them with a click and Irene swings her legs off the bed promptly, sitting up.

There’s a protest of, “What are you doing? You’re still weak,” but Irene silences her with a glare. She doesn’t think she looks all that intimidating in a hospital gown, but the girl ducks her head.

“Kim Yerim,” Irene starts warningly, and she ignores the wince in favor of trying to get ahold of the situation, feel a little more in control of things than she is now. _“Who_ are you?” She rubs at her forehead. “And what do you know exactly?”

“I-I’m a first year high school student,” is what she gets, along with a hurried bow that makes Irene feel a little bad, and she hurries to squash the feeling down. “I moved to Seoul recently. My mother helped me settle in for a little -- that’s how I met you in the lobby -- but she’s gone now.” Yerim shrugs her shoulders and suddenly seems very small. “I’m -- I’m alone.”

Irene’s mouth opens and closes, trying to form words, but before she can ask questions -- _how could your mother leave you alone like this? Why Seoul?_ \-- Yerim speaks again.

“I only know what I pieced together from you and Wendy unnie. She wasn’t as upset as you when she caught me eavesdropping. I told her I could help.” Yerim swallows audibly. “I want to help.”

There’s a long stretch of silence as Irene struggles to gather her thoughts together -- she doesn’t know if she’s any less confused or _more_ now -- but Yerim interrupts the quiet again.

“Please don’t be mad.” Yerim is staring at the floor, refusing to meet her gaze. “You were the first person who looked me in the eyes when you spoke to me when I came here. I want to repay the favor.” 

She bows low again, her breaths shaky and uneven, and Irene wonders how many people have asked if she’s okay. She thinks of their interactions, brief and fleeting but fun and comfortable, and wonders if that’s the most humanity Yerim’s seen since she moved to the city. 

“Unnie’s not mad,” Irene says slowly, as Yerim looks up in shock. She stands, feeling a little wobbly on her feet, and stands to reach over and ruffle the younger girl’s hair. Irene feels a little awkward doing it -- she doesn’t have younger sisters of her own and Joy deserves more smacks upside the head than tender affection most days -- but Yerim’s answering smile is shy yet bright, a lone sunflower in the middle of winter. 

“So Wendy knows?” Irene asks, and Yerim nods. She puffs out a breath. “How did you convince her you could help?”

“I’m small, and good at sneaking around,” Yerim reports candidly, and from everything Irene’s seen, she’s not lying, “The nurse wasn't lying when she said you have a lot of visitors. High profile visitors with scary managers making sure no one else is walking the halls when they’re here.” Her eyes glimmer. “Or so they think.”

Irene pauses. “Jessica unnie and Tiffany unnie?”

“Mmm.” Yerim nods. “They came in together when you were first admitted, and then at separate times yesterday.” She points towards the flowers by Irene’s bedside that she hadn’t noticed earlier. 

Irene detaches herself from every machine except her IV drip, using the pole as support as she walks slowly forward. 

“What are you doing?” the younger girl asks, anxiously holding her palms out as though she’s going to fall any moment. She wonders how bad it had been when she first got here, if Yerim's acting this way.

“I need to see Wendy,” she answers, gritting her teeth -- she does feel a little unstable, and she’s not near being one hundred percent again, but she’s better. Better is all she needs. “If her parents keep checking in on me, maybe we can lock them in a room or something until they talk things out.”

“Cliche, and a little devious,” Yerim considers as Irene pulls the door open and pads out into the hallway. “I like it, unnie.”

“Of course you do,” Irene mutters under her breath as she rounds a corner, stopping short at a sound coming down from the other end of the hall.

 _“I thought you had a recording…”_ Irene knows that voice.

Tiffany’s voice cuts into the air in response. _“It ended early. I called and they told me her parents still haven’t come to visit her, so I thought...”_

Yerim flaps her arms around wildly when Irene goes still. “Are you hopeless?” the girl whines in a whisper, tugging her into the nearest storage room. She leaves the door open but flicks the lights off, bathing them in shadows. “They’re going to see us.”

Jessica and Tiffany’s voices draw closer.

“It’s a little strange, but not that uncommon,” Jessica ponders out loud, and Irene dares to peek out just enough to see her gazing at Tiffany with a soft, knowing look. “Not every trainee’s parents live nearby.”

“You think they’d at least call,” Tiffany answers in a huff, and Irene spots toddler Wendy between them, holding onto a hand of theirs each and walking happily -- though clumsily -- on.

“To listen to her breathing on the other end?” asks Jessica lightly, and Tiffany flushes a little and pushes her arm with her free hand.

“Seungwan’s always here,” Tiffany offers back in reply, “Joohyun might not be awake, but she’s always here.”

“Well,” Jessica drawls, “We both have our theories about those two.” She leans down and coos to her daughter playfully. “Those unnies are really funny, aren’t they, Seungwannie?”

Toddler Wendy laughs delightedly and throws herself at Jessica’s leg, stopping them both for a moment as Jessica bends down to kiss her and Tiffany watches on with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

“She’s really missed you these days, you know,” Tiffany starts quietly. “She’s almost impossible to tuck in at night now.”

Jessica’s face clouds over, and she pats Seungwan’s head before standing, staring at her wife with a strange expression. “Yeah, well,” Jessica answers, flippant with an edge of something more, something cracked and on the verge of broken, “I did put her to bed for three months straight when you were on tour.”

And there it is, Irene sees, as clear as day. The distance that keeps them so far apart even when they’re in the same room.

“Jessi,” Tiffany reaches for her, startled when Jessica takes a step back. Like Jessica has never taken a step back from her before, a physical gap to match the emotional one.

“Steph,” Jessica says softly, shaking her head, and Irene doesn’t know how she packs so much emotion in one word, like everything in her world begins and ends with one name. “Steph, what are we doing?”

Tiffany blinks and looks away. Seungwan is on two unsteady legs, looking to and from her mothers with wide eyes.

“We just keep missing each other, I guess,” she answers, just as quietly, and Jessica nods. 

It looks like she’s trying to brace herself, but the moment comes and goes too soon, a weight resting heavy and dark on Jessica’s shoulders as she takes a deep breath.

“I feel like I miss you even when you’re right here,” Tiffany speaks again, and Jessica flinches, what little composure she had wrecked with just one sentence. Irene doesn’t want to hear any more, but her legs feel paralyzed, stuck watching the scene unfold in front of her.

 _Wendy,_ Irene thinks sorrowfully. _Wendy, what do we do?_

Jessica steps forward. “But I _am_ right here,” she presses, maneuvering around Seungwan to run her fingers along her arm, down to her wrist and then her hand. She interlaces their fingers together. “I’m not throwing in the towel if you’re not.”

Tiffany shakes her head, releasing a small, choked laugh that hurts to hear. 

“Babo,” Tiffany squeezes Jessica’s hand, her eyes suddenly very bright, “When would that ever be an option?”

“Oh!”

Irene stares, half in shock and half in warm affection, at the sight of Wendy exiting the elevator and stopping short at her parents, looking between them with a caught expression. She even gives a cursory glance toward toddler Wendy, who has somehow grabbed hold of Tiffany’s phone and seems intent on taking it apart.

Wendy bows low as they exchange greetings, but it’s when she straightens and looks past them and meets Irene’s gaze that she fumbles mid-sentence. Her eyes turn as large as saucers, and Yerim grabs Irene and flattens them against the wall when Jessica looks behind them suspiciously.

_“A-ah, Jessica unnie, Tiffany unnie…”_

Yerim peeks her head out first to check if the coast is clear. She nudges Irene to poke her head out when Jessica and Tiffany are properly distracted enough again.

“Your girlfriend wins zero awards at staying subtle,” Yerim offers in a whisper, “but she might be good at improv. Quick, let’s go back to your room before they notice. Everyone’s headed there anyway.” 

\---

“I’m glad things worked out for you,” Jessica says casually once they’ve all crammed themselves into Irene’s room. Her eyes hone in on the way Wendy has hovered over her since the doctor left after checking in with her and reading a synopsis of her report, brushing her hair out of her face and fixing her blankets, and Irene thinks she isn’t just talking about her physical well being.

She’s not the only one who seems to have caught on, either. “I suppose you two have some catching up to do,” Tiffany smiles once she’s hugged Irene gently, moving to linger by the door. 

Tiffany turns her warm gaze over to Yerim and nods. “Should we get going, Yerim-ah? I know a great dessert place just a few streets down. Seungwan loves it.”

“Don’t get too excited, you,” Jessica tells the toddler in her arms, who rouses once her name is called, “All you’re getting is warm milk at this hour.”

Yerim, however, stares openly. “You know my name?”

“How could I not?” She grins. “I’ve heard such glowing praise from a certain unnie, and -- ” Wendy pointedly looks away at that, hands pressing at invisible creases at Irene’s gown. “ -- I’ve heard rumors myself about our newest trainee.”

“You’re a trainee?” Irene blurts, baffled.

“Joohyun-ah,” Tiffany chides softly, fixing her with a look that’s meant to be reprimanding but falls short, “You should pay more attention to your juniors, not just your seniors.”

“I’ve, uh, been suffering,” Irene explains flatly. “From exhaustion.” She waves absentmindedly to her chart that’s hanging by her bed. She hears Wendy snort from beside her.

“I suppose that’s fair,” Tiffany mulls over it for a moment, before turning to Wendy, “Take care, okay? Both of you.”

The room is a flurry of movement for a minute as everyone exchanges goodbyes, Irene leaning in to reciprocate the hug Yerim gives her. “They’re nice, I promise,” she assures the other girl in a low breath, and Yerim nods -- still looking a little dazed -- as she follows them out of the room.

“I can’t believe that kid is a trainee,” Irene whistles in all her surprise, leaning back into her pillows as she gives it further thought. 

It makes sense -- why she had been in the hotel lobby for just a few days before finding another place nearby to stay, how she had been able to sneak backstage at the music show -- well. Even if regular trainees couldn’t do that, Yerim could; Irene doesn’t doubt that.

“Well, if that’s all you’re taken aback by,” Wendy says teasingly, but there’s a sliver of anxiety in her tone that Irene can’t help but pay attention to as she sits up. “She helped me out of a tight spot earlier, though. I like her.”

“She knows. You _knew.”_ Irene moves to lie down again -- this is really too much -- but another question prompts her to sit back up. “She helped?” 

“Well…” Wendy skirts around a lie. A half-truth, really. “Distracted would be the right word.”

She can only imagine. “What did you do?”

“Nothing bad!” defends Wendy, “I just temporarily shut down the main servers processing patients’ files so they’d have to log yours on paper.” She pauses. “Then I took your assigned nurse’s sheet and embellished a few details on your chart so it wouldn’t look so suspiciously empty. Your home address is the pizza place we went to last week.”

“You stole and lied. And shut down an entire hospital system’s server,” Irene holds a hand to her forehead.

“Took brief possession of and added some bells and whistles,” Wendy shrugs. “And it wasn’t the entire system! You’re exaggerating.” 

“And you’re a con artist,” Irene shoots back, amused.

“I’m your girlfriend,” Wendy softens, moving to sit on her bed again. “You really scared me.”

“Because I almost ruined our whole mission,” she laments, having the grace to look apologetic when she thinks of how Wendy must have had to think on her feet so her entire _existence_ in the hospital wouldn’t bring unwanted attention, “I’m sorry.”

“First, because I love you,” Wendy corrects her firmly, then adds, “And second, because you almost ruined our whole mission, but it wasn’t a narrow call.” She touches the back of her hand to her forehead, and it still feels cool to Irene, but not alarmingly so. “How are you feeling?”

“Been better, but still _better,_ now,” Irene replies, watching the way Wendy watches _her,_ with so much care and attentiveness it makes her heart clench in her chest, “You didn’t catch what your parents were talking about in the hall earlier, I -- ”

Wendy presses a finger to her lips. “We can talk about that tomorrow,” she tells Irene, now tracing her hand along the curve of her jaw instead.

“Wendy-yah,” Irene murmurs, unsure how much more she can take the look in her girlfriend’s eyes. She loves the fact she cares so much, but Wendy looks beside herself with worry and fear. “I’m okay. Really.”

“You really scared me,” Wendy repeats again, softer, and immediately Irene’s shifting herself to one side of the hospital bed and tugging her down with her. “Irene -- ”

“Lay with me,” she says simply. Visiting hours will be over soon and a nurse will come to collect Wendy, but none of that matters to her in this moment. “That’s what you can do for me now. Lay with me.”

It’s a tight fit, so Wendy’s face is only inches away from her own, but Irene doesn’t think she’d prefer it any other way. She curls on her side and doesn’t take her eyes off of Irene for a second, and Irene can’t find it in her not to do the same.

“I can’t lose you,” confesses Wendy, “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”

“Figure out how to use an ironer, maybe,” Irene quips, and Wendy lets out a low chuckle that stirs something happy and light within her.

“Shut up, Bae Joohyun.”

“You won’t lose me,” Irene promises quietly, eyes dark and serious, “I swear. I’m not as smart as you, I can’t build a time machine from scratch and I don’t know how to work a computer beyond sending e-mail, but.” She swallows. “I know how to make you laugh when you’re sad. And I know what songs you sing in the shower, and when you need to talk things out versus when you just need a hug.” 

Irene lets out a breath.

“You can’t lose me when I’d find my way back to you anywhere.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's exactly a month since I last updated? Half my trouble is just finding the time to sit down and write tbh. Thanks for reading this far, I really appreciate people who anticipate the next chapters considering how bad I am with being consistent. Feel free to bother me anytime over Twitter (same name) and harass me to update faster!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “How did Jessica unnie propose?” asks Irene suddenly, almost out of nowhere -- almost because she remembers Wendy’s words from earlier that brings forth a flutter in her stomach instead. 
> 
> Tiffany’s eyes sparkle. “What makes you think that nervous wreck proposed?”
> 
> “I knew it,” Wendy mutters under her breath, “I knew that cool proposal story was a lie.”

“You’re feeling okay, right?”

“I told you I was feeling fine five minutes ago.”

“Yeah, but see, there’s fine, and I’m-not-fine-and-on-the-verge-of-collapse-I-just-don’t-want-to-burden-you, fine.”

Irene rolls her eyes. “I’m decidedly the former.”

“Are you? Are you really?” Wendy asks, and Irene hushes the girl by tangling their fingers together as they walk through the SM building freely -- thanks, Yerim -- to meet Tiffany.

Since she was discharged from the hospital, her girlfriend really hasn’t pushed the matter, but with the days soon blurring into each other, Irene took initiative first. Tiffany was recording her background track for her Christmas performance today, and it hadn’t taken much for the singer to suggest the two drop by.

(“It’s a ballad,” she had told Wendy, after saying her goodbyes and hanging up the phone, “she doesn’t normally sing ballads, does she?”

The shorter girl sighed. “She listens to them when she’s sad,” Wendy paused, “When I was little, when she thought I was sleeping -- I’d overhear her play my mom’s old ones.”)

Irene squeezes her hand. “Come on,” she says, when Wendy gets distracted by a group of trainees as they pass a practice room, “we don’t want to be too late.”

\---

Unnerving is the only way Irene can describe her current predicament, other than --

“Weird,” she mutters, nudging Wendy’s shoulder as they sit outside the booth Tiffany is busy recording in. The woman had seen them walk in and waved through the glass, smiling apologetically and pointing to the heavyset headphones around her neck. “Make it stop.”

Wendy laughs. “I think it’s cute,” she teases, which, well.

She makes a face anyway. “Of course you would,” Irene says, as the miniature version of her girlfriend leans in from her spot in Wendy’s arms to yank at her hair. She tries to tug it back gently -- _this is mine, not yours_ \-- but then little Seungwan reaches for her hand, looking up at her hopefully.

Irene softens, just a bit, before the toddler decides to pull her hair again. Hard.

Irene leans in, all somber and no nonsense expression in place. “No one likes a girl who gives mixed signals, Seungwan-ah.”

Wendy -- _her_ Wendy, though she guesses the brat giggling at her is hers in a way, too -- shoots her an amused look, and Irene would have something to say about it if her eyes didn’t crinkle the way they do at the corners, the tiny creases filled with amusement and fondness.

“Cute,” she says again, then, “I think you’re my first crush?”

Her face heats up, but Irene looks determinedly away, reaching for sheet music on the table in front of them to distract herself with. She reads the title of Tiffany’s new song, and notes that she’s been given credit for the lyrics, too.

“Yeah?” she answers finally, coughing and clearing her throat, “That’s a relief. When I met you, there were already boys lined around the block to date you.”

She hears more than sees the bemused huff she gets in return; she begins to play with Seungwan’s hair, the strands fluffy and soft between her fingers, as she begins to nod off in Wendy’s arms. Irene looks up just as the little girl’s eyes drift shut, breath catching in her throat at the expression she finds.

“You could be my last, too,” Wendy adds quietly, a small admission that opens galaxies in Irene’s chest, makes her heart feel fit to burst with stars and wonder and everything else she wants to hold in her hands to give her. 

They don’t say these things often; Irene catches glimpses in fleeting moments sometimes. _You’re stuck with me,_ Wendy will say when she’s caught in the kitchen at one in the morning because brownies, apparently, are enough logic, and Irene is trying to usher her back into bed. Or _don’t be ridiculous,_ she had said once when Joy had developed an obsession with ugly wedding dresses for all of a week, _my mom will design ours._

Allusions to forever don’t come often, but Irene wonders, between all the running around they’re doing and the gravity of the consequences that come with it, if it’s something Wendy’s been thinking about while trying to sew back the worn threads of fate meant to pull her parents together.

After all, Irene thinks, they’re just giving Jessica and Tiffany the means. They wouldn’t be able to accomplish anything at all if they didn’t want forever with each other already. There’s a degree of choice, there, too, even with the possibility. 

She wants to tell Wendy that she’s already made her choice, a long time ago in fact -- she doesn’t remember when, or how, but she knows why. She’s always known why, even when they were just friends.

But Seungwan rouses easily when the door to the booth opens, fussing and near-crying until Tiffany makes quick strides and takes the young girl from Wendy’s arms, and Irene is left with a pounding heart and stardust on her tongue, a world of promises she has yet to give.

She lets Wendy do the pleasantries and catching up, only nodding every so often until she thinks her pulse has gone back to normal. Tiffany’s answering a question about the Christmas stage when Irene remembers.

“Unnie,” she starts, still bowing her head even now as she asks, “I saw your name on the writing credits.”

“Did you?” Tiffany covers her mouth but it doesn’t quite hide a radiant smile, “It’s always smart to be credited with lyrics, too, business wise, even if all you do is change a few words.” She uses her coat to wrap Seungwan in a makeshift blanket, who already looks content enough to be in her mother’s arms. “I wrote most of them this time around, though.”

“We didn’t really hear it from outside, but the lyrics are really nice,” Irene offers honestly. She hears Wendy murmur something about sucking up beside her, but she elbows the girl in the side. “Is it for Jessica unnie?”

The older woman fixes the bright blue bow on her daughter’s shirt, taking a moment to answer. “Well, I don’t know if it’s for her,” she replies carefully, her smile slipping just slightly, like the sun curving over the horizon to give way to the moon -- no less beautiful, but still not quite as bright, “We probably won’t get to see each other on Christmas until late at night, so she’ll miss the live broadcast.” Tiffany pauses before she winks. “If you’re asking if it’s _about_ her, though, that’s a no brainer.”

The confirmation hits Irene straight in the gut; it’s a love ballad, certainly, but… She shakes her head. Wendy shoots her a questioning look, but Irene just answers with her own. _Not now._ Not now, when they’re supposed to be actively fixing things, not staring at the damage.

“How did Jessica unnie propose?” asks Irene suddenly, almost out of nowhere -- almost because she remembers Wendy’s words from earlier that brings forth a flutter in her stomach instead. 

Tiffany’s eyes sparkle. “What makes you think that nervous wreck proposed?”

“I knew it,” Wendy mutters under her breath, “I knew that cool proposal story was a lie.”

She’ll have to ask later, Irene thinks, curious as Wendy gets that look on her face that had once ended with poor Seulgi paying for her boba tea for a month. 

“Did she mess it up?” Wendy questions eagerly; next to her, Irene snorts. “Mo -- Jessica unnie seems really confident, except when it comes to you. Her eyes get all soft and even her voice changes when she says your name.”

All things, Irene notes, that Jessica still does in their time. She thinks she doesn’t have to tell Wendy because she already knows. Jessica’s never stopped loving Tiffany.

“You’d think she’d do something showy and out there, wouldn’t you?” Tiffany hums, eyes distant as she plays with the ring on her finger. “It was actually really private -- just the two of us -- except when she got down on one knee and opened the little black box, nothing was inside.”

Tiffany seems to enjoy their reactions -- the arch of Irene’s eyebrows, the way Wendy’s mouth falls open entirely -- because she grins and continues, encouraged by their responses. “I knew she was planning it for months, and I wanted to beat her to it, but I didn’t want to steal her thunder, either.”

“I asked Soojung to swipe the ring when she wasn’t looking,” she carries on, coughing a proud, little laugh. “So when she looked like she was about to cry, I told her it was a good thing she was marrying someone who always came prepared.”

“And then you took out your ring,” finishes Irene, a little in awe.

“And then I took out my ring,” finishes Tiffany, a little quiet, too.

“Man,” Wendy puffs indignantly, “I didn’t believe her when she said she nearly wasn’t invited to the wedding, but now I know.”

“Um?” Irene prompts, nudging her.

Wendy scratches her cheek, laughing nervously. “So I heard, I mean,” she nods after a beat, “from… tabloids.”

The singer flashes her a confused smile, but seems to accept it, and before long she’s up again, cradling Seungwan into an armchair and using her purse as a pillow as she gets up to talk with the producer about her track.

“So your aunt Krystal,” she begins when Tiffany’s out of earshot, but still low enough that she doesn’t wake the sleeping two year old close by. Only, Wendy’s lifting the girl out of her chair, careful not to disturb her, and depositing her into Irene’s arms instead. “Wendy?”

“Two things we learned today,” her girlfriend flashes her a victory sign with her hand before she goes back to scavenging into Tiffany’s purse until she finds a phone.

“One, my mom is a big _nerd_ who’s never going to hear the end of it once we’re back in our time,” Wendy snorts, only quieting when Seungwan grumbles and buries her face into Irene’s neck. She drops her voice to a whisper. “Two, said mom needs to go to that broadcast and hear that song.”

She can only watch, unsure if it’s possible to intervene or if she even _should_ intervene, as Wendy takes a photo of a flyer hanging on the wall advertising the Christmas special -- highlighting Tiffany’s broadcast, especially -- and pulls up Tiffany’s contact list, sending it to Jessica. And then deletes both the photo and message.

“What are you doing?!” hisses Irene under her breath. Seungwan stirs, and she holds her breath, but it ends up for the girl only to begin drooling on her cardigan. Good to know not much changes with her, she thinks exasperatedly.

“Being a genius,” her Wendy replies smartly, tucking the phone back into the purse. “It’s kind of what I do.”

She’s noticed, to put it lightly. Irene tries to comfort herself with the knowledge that if Wendy gets her killed one day, she can go back in time and do something about it. 

\---

They spend the majority of their afternoon talking -- the two of them about vague, distressing trainee problems, and Tiffany about real, actual ones, however small.

(“They’re thinking of splitting us up, but I stood up to our vocal coach and told them no way. I said I’d never open my mouth to sing again if they took me away from her, maybe never to even _talk,_ and -- Joohyun-ah, why are you laughing?”)

(“I’m thinking of knitting her a scarf for Christmas, but,” the older woman pouts. “It’s hard! And she has a line of them! Luxury ones, you know.)

When Tiffany leaves them, it’s with two free meal coupons at the restaurant down the street. She winks before turning down another exit down the hall, and Irene thinks Tiffany was always her favorite, if she had to choose. Not that choosing between a woman that liked her and one that wanted her to fall off a cliff was exactly hard, but still.

It’s Irene that wants to wait, because there’s still music coming from outside one of the practice rooms, and there’s a chance a familiar mischievous little brat she knows is inside. True enough, when the lights flicker off and a group of young girls rush out, exhaustion evident in their faces but still bright eyed and laughing, Yerim is among them. She catches sight of Irene first, then Wendy, beaming with all her teeth before waving the other girls off. 

“I’ll catch up!” she calls, and Wendy furrows her eyebrows as Yerim walks up to them both and waves. “Hi, unnies. I’d hug you, but,” the shorter girl laughs, sweat sticking to her forehead, “I’m kind of gross.”

“You _are_ gross,” Irene chastises, taking off her coat to hand it to her, “You’re going to get sick going outside in the cold with your body temperature so high.” Her face leaves no room for discussion and Yerim takes it with an eye roll, though she’s still smiling. 

“Unnie, how do you deal with omonim like this?” Yerim asks Wendy, laughing as she twirls to evade a swat to her arm.

 _“Yah!_ What do you mean omonim, you punk?” she looks over to have her honor defended, but Wendy’s watching with a vaguely amused expression and a knit in her eyebrows, the one she gets when she’s thinking hard about something. 

Irene decides to settle the score herself, pinching the girl’s side as Yerim yelps and makes a face, taunting her with her new nickname again out of spite. The more red Irene’s face gets, the more pleased Yerim looks. “Is this how you treat an unnie trying to invite you to dinner?” She’s close to starving, and truth be told, she’s still feeling a little off, and wants something hearty to fill her up so she can sleep well tonight.

Yerim stops sticking her tongue out at her and straightens, tilting her head like a confused puppy. “You were going to take me to dinner, unnie?” she asks, almost touched, before she shakes her head and gives Irene a sheepish, apologetic smile. “But I can’t! I have plans!”

She blinks. Plans?

Yerim must read the surprise on her face, because she laughs, still a little shy as she nods. “The girls -- the other trainees I was with?” she gestures vaguely behind her, after the girls who have long left the building. “We’re all going for bingsu. The prices are really cheap this season, we can get a lot.”

“Yah, Kim Yerim,” Irene yells after her, chasing the young girl’s laughter echoing off the halls after she’d hugged them both briefly goodbye. “Who eats patbingsu in this weather, huh? You’re asking for a cold!” 

“Bye unnie!” Yerim cackles as she dashes around the corner and out of sight. “Let’s meet up again soon so omonim doesn’t get cranky!”

\---

She’s too busy grumbling about dumb kids and dumb eating habits and _it’s all fun and games until someone gets sick, you know,_ but halfway through her stew Irene remembers the way Wendy had looked lost in thought before they’d finally left the SM building.

“Hey,” Irene says, setting her spoon down so she can reach for her tea. “What were you thinking about earlier, when Yerim was around?”

“Oh, that,” Wendy frowns a little, taking another bite of her fried rice and swallowing, “I was just thinking -- Yerim has friends now.”

“I know,” replies Irene, dry, “Can you imagine willingly putting yourself through that company? Those poor girls.” She gets an eye roll for that, and Irene doesn’t even protest; they’d had to share Wendy’s coat the walk here because she hadn’t given a second thought about giving her own to the girl. She’s willing to bet neither of them really had any complaints about that, though.

“I was just thinking,” Wendy tilts her head, lips pursed -- _still_ thinking, Irene knows by just a glance, “what if we changed something there? You met her first, and you said she seemed pretty alone. And then she met me, and my moms, and now she has friends of her own.”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. I guess it could have happened on its own, too, but I feel like we -- or at least you -- set things in motion for her.”

And, oh, Irene gets it now. She hums a little, thinking it over as well, recalling back her memories of the girl in the hotel lobby, all by herself with no one to go to. How she had looked afraid even up until Irene was in the hospital, scared that she’d be thrown away if she’d annoyed her enough. Yerim, Irene realizes now, doesn’t look so frightened anymore.

“Who knows,” Irene shrugs too, passive as she takes another spoonful of her food, “We won’t until we get back, probably, but if we did something right -- if we made it even a little better, then that’s good. It’s not what we came to do, but I’m glad we did.”

Wendy’s spoon clatters against her bowl noisily, and Irene looks up. She has that look again -- not thinking exactly but soft, warmer than the tea settling in Irene’s stomach. Her face burns and she feels self conscious. “What?”

She shakes her head -- she’s blushing, too. “Nothing, just,” Wendy holds her gaze, “you really could be my last, you know?”

Irene ducks her head a little, and she bites down on a smile.

“Finish your food,” she instructs, and then: “I love you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... Apologies for the wait again? With my schedule I can't exactly promise regular updates, but I will say it's really encouraging that even months after I post my last update, people still anticipate a new one, haha. I really appreciate all the comments/kudos, genuinely! 
> 
> I'm considering asking for a beta, not just for this story but for others. It'll be the easiest gig considering... how often do I post, really... but if you're interested or just want to drop a line and talk, feel free to @ me on Twitter with the same username here!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Even when you love someone, if you're better people apart than together, isn't that right? Isn't that better for everyone instead of hurting each other trying to force it back to what it was?"

She looks up from her crouching position on the floor, pulling the loose strings from Wendy's shoelaces and tying them again for her.

"Where's Yerim?"

Wendy smiles at her and reaches for her hand to pull her up once she’s done. “One of her friends invited her to spend the holiday with them,” she explains, lacing her fingers with Irene’s and stuffing them in her coat pocket. “She said she’ll catch up with us later on her own.”

Irene grumbles a little, thinking of all they have to pull off today and how having Yerim, skilled at sneaking around as she is, would probably help more than hurt.

"Should've left her friendless," mutters Irene, "Taught her some humility."

Her girlfriend knocks her shoulder with her own in reply, but the smile on her lips makes Irene feel warm despite the cold. Today, Irene knows, is the day they've been anticipating, and there's so much to do, so much they have to get right because they only have so many chances.

("What if we mess up?" Wendy had asked into the all consuming darkness, in the middle of last night when sleep hadn't come easy, warded off by anxiety and nerves.

"We go back to the dorm," answered Irene lightly, but tiredly, not wanting to sleep when Wendy couldn't. "We power up the machine and try again." 

Irene remembered feeling Wendy shake her head just slightly against her back, mouth tracing words against her nightshirt. "No," she countered, almost muffled, almost too quiet to hear at all as her thumb traced circles over Irene's hand in hers. 

"No, we can't do that forever," Wendy decided, maybe right then and there, the admission quiet but sure, "we have to go back at some point. We have to go home.")

A fanboy shrieks when a car with dark tinted windows pulls up, and the queue they're in immediately turns, fansigns covering their faces. It's not Tiffany, judging by the words she can distinguish in all of the yelling, and Irene shoots Wendy an exasperated look, to which the girl stifles a laugh and grins. 

There is so much to do today, Irene thinks, so much to change, but right now, in line for a music show with Wendy, she feels like she could be anyone else that belongs here, in this time and place exactly. 

\---

"Tell me again," Irene asks flatly, as they're shuffled around for the fourth time in two hours, "why we couldn't just ask your mom to get us backstage instead of doing it the hard way?" 

Wendy hums. "Because then she'd know we were here," she offers, stepping to the side to let a high schooler pass as workers begin to separate the lines into fandom groups, "and knowing her, she'd be too distracted making sure we were okay that she'd never get a chance to have a moment alone."

"Do we know?" wonders Irene quietly. There are too many people around, crowded enough for Irene to feel mildly claustrophobic, but that can only help them sneak away later on, she guesses. "Do we know that Jessica is even here? I know you sent an invitation, but..."

"I know how much they love each other," Wendy says after a moment's pause, quiet too, in a way that has Irene reaching for her hand even though they're inside and it's not cold anymore even though her nose still feels numb. "I know that they wouldn't give up without a fight, and if they were going to, they went down swinging until the very end." 

"She'll be here," Irene finishes for her, because someone has to say so.

Wendy just nods. 

\---

The group they're in moves, slowly but surely, waves of others passing by them because their idols' will be performing earlier in the show. They hang back, idle but filled with nervous energy, too, among all the other fans of Tiffany's. Irene is eyeing a particularly large queue pass by when she suddenly grips Wendy's arm tight.

"Ow, Irene, wh -- "

"Those are my parents." Irene slackens her hold but doesn't take her eyes off two figures ahead, their backs facing them. 

"What?" Wendy looks over, too, rising on the tips of her toes to get a better look. Her eyebrows narrow as she squints, dropping back onto her heels. "That's not possible -- your parents live in Daegu, that doesn't make any sense."

The woman she's staring at turns, angling her head to look up at her male partner. Her features are defined, but soft. He smiles back down at her, a shy smile with the briefest flash of teeth, and there's no mistaking it.

"Those are my parents," Irene repeats, dazed. 

"Why would they be in Seoul, unless..." Wendy's cheeks turn pink. "Irene, I think they're on a date."

Irene blanches and tries to unsee it, but the way her parents are looking at each other is unmistakable as anything else now that Wendy's voiced it out loud. While Wendy hides a laugh, Irene's eyes narrow.

"I can't believe this. When I wanted to audition to become a trainee of SME they had a fit," Irene scowls. " _"Becoming an idol isn't a career,' 'it's not stable,' 'Joohyun-ah, it's all theatrics'_ \-- but they're at a music show!"

"Is that why you're a dance major instead?" asks Wendy, curious.

"Ajumma's a dance major? Is your health in good condition for that?"

Yerim grins, popping up behind Wendy, who brings the girl under her arm and ruffles her hair with her free hand. Evil in its purest form, Irene thinks. She takes her eyes off her parents to glare and raise a fist, but she's too slow and Yerim is quick to hide behind her girlfriend.

"You get in okay?" Wendy asks her, thoughtful as always, as she mutters nonsensical threats under her breath.

There's something unnerving about the way Yerim cozies up to her while nodding, answering with a, "Too easy. I think they should rehire some of the cleaning staff, or at least the ones that sleep on the job."

"You stole a janitor's keys," Irene asks without really asking at all.

"I gave them back," defends Yerim. A beat later: "I mean, I'm sure he has an extra set." She pulls away from Wendy's side to look between the two, suddenly alive. "Anyway, you'll never guess who I saw wandering backstage on my way here," she adds, voice dropping into a low, excited whisper, "Jessica sunbae is already in the building!"

Irene shoots Wendy a small smile, the good kind of _you said so and were right,_ and Yerim continues.

"I mapped out the place before I came to you guys, though," she admits with a slight frown, "I can lead us to Tiffany sunbae's dressing room without a problem, but I took a peek and even though it's big, it's not very promising." Yerim looks apologetic. "There aren't many corners or dark spaces to take advantage of since it's so brightly lit. I wouldn't chance hiding in the room, even if I could create a distraction to get us inside. I'm sorry."

Irene is still floored, reeling not only from the fact their plan is compromised but that Yerim had _canvassed the whole building,_ found the location of where they need to go, all without getting caught, that she has to do a double take at Wendy's confident smile. She looks entirely too triumphant for Irene to be comfortable. 

"I have a plan B."

\---

"This is awesome," Yerim exclaims, hushed but still awed.

"This is crazy but not entirely unexpected," Irene resigns, pulling the clear colored wire up from underneath her blouse to fix the tiny mechanical bud into one ear. 

"I originally wanted walkie talkies, but these are less conspicuous," offers Wendy, and Irene has to stare at her a little because of course she would have looked at all her options when deciding to operate as a member of the Secret Service.

"Testing, one, two, three. Unnie, can you hear me?" Yerim speaks too closely into the mic clipped to Wendy's shirt. "Hey, that rhymed."

Irene winces from the volume it produces, holding a hand to her ear. "Yah!" She knocks her knuckles against Yerim’s head, finding satisfaction in the way the girl rubs at her temple after.

Wendy watches them amusedly. "Let me know if one of you kills the other," she says, tapping her own earpiece, backing away on light footsteps, "or anything else important. You know how to reach me now."

"Wait, you're not coming?" She whips around as Wendy begins to run down the corridor and out of sight. She calls after her, helpless. "Where are you going?" 

Her answer arrives through the earpiece instead, her girlfriend already gone though her voice comes distinct over the line:

"They need more time!" Wendy says and Irene thinks, _don't we all._

\---

Irene can't believe she's doing this.

"Can you manage to turn around? I think this is the best spot but my view is compromised by your butt."

Scratch that, Irene thinks as she shuffles to turn and narrowly avoids banging her elbow in the crawl space of an air vent, above Tiffany's dressing room. She can't believe she's doing this _with Yerim._

Going back in time, fixing a broken marriage, wearing spy gear as though she belongs in a pantsuit with dark glasses and not a shirt and jeans -- entirely plausible.

"Oh, good. Not that your face is much better, but it's the lesser of two evils at this point," Yerim whispers tauntingly once they're convened over the vent, peering through the blinds.

This? Completely ridiculous, Irene decides, lower lip pushing out in a small pout. There was no reason Wendy couldn't take Yerim's place. She's sure among all the tricks hidden up her sleeve, she could figure out a diversion easily enough.

"Now what?" asks Yerim.

Irene folds her arms over each other, dropping her chin to rest over them instead of dust and metal.

"Now we wait," she answers. 

\---

Tiffany's been gone for maybe the past twenty minutes, and Irene shifts uncomfortably, shaking her wrist out before the tingling sensation of pins and needles render her arm completely useless. 

Before that, she'd watched the singer go through the finishing touches of hair and make up, and bow a full ninety degrees to a rookie girl group that had wandered in with shy, hesitant smiles, album tucked nervously underneath the leader's arm.

There had been a commotion outside when Tiffany had left, indiscernible through all the noise, and Irene had been wondering if they had been wrong, if Jessica wouldn't choose to come talk to Tiffany before her stage, or that she would but not in her dressing room.

("What's going on out there?"

"Everyone's tense and on high alert. The servers were already malfunctioning when I got to the control room," Wendy answered a moment later, voice low and slightly muffled, "I thought we'd need to create the distraction to give them time to talk but I guess not.")

She huffs a small sigh, staring into the same emptied out room when Yerim breaks the silence.

"Unnie?"

Irene looks up and over the planes of the younger girl's face, the knit of her eyebrows, the slope of her mouth pressed into a worried frown.

"Hmm?"

She hesitates, and all Irene can see isn't so much Kim Yerim, adored trainee, but a small voice attached to an even smaller girl trying to match her big dreams. 

"Yah," Irene prompts, though there's no harshness to the way she speaks. "What is it?"

"I'm the oldest out of my siblings. The others are really young," she starts abruptly, and Irene has to blink at her calling anyone else _really young,_ when Yerim is still a child in many aspects, even when she has been forced to grow up too soon in others. "My parents fought a lot when the youngest was born. I took care of them whenever I could but then I moved here and..." 

She trails off, eyes distant as stars.

"Even when you love someone, if you're better people apart than together, isn't that right? Isn't that better for everyone instead of hurting each other trying to force it back to what it was?"

And truthfully, Irene doesn't know how to respond. She can't honestly say one way or the other, for either her parents or Wendy's, and maybe Yerim knows that judging by the way the other girl is looking at her; Irene wonders if the line of thought has ever crossed Wendy's mind, if Wendy has ever looked to her like Yerim is looking at her now, hoping she'd say _this is not a war supposed to be won, let's go home, this is not our fight, let's go now._

Irene clears her throat quietly. 

"I think you're right," she admits, "I think sometimes the act of two people falling apart might lead to something better separately in the long run." She pauses. "But I also think sometimes things have to fall apart so they can come back together again." Irene leans over to tousle Yerim's hair, too young and too thoughtful to be so old.

"I guess it's a choice we never know until we make it."

\---

She's almost fallen asleep by the time the door to the dressing room opens again, and when Tiffany and Jessica's voices reach the air vent she nearly knocks heads with Yerim -- equally surprised -- as she scrambles to listen.

"It's important to me." Jessica closes the door behind her and crosses her arms, then uncrosses then a moment later. "But so is this. I'm here, aren't I?"

"For how long?" Tiffany asks, turning around to face her. Irene can see the way she holds her own arms, as if she's holding herself up. "You're leaving to New York -- "

"It's just for a few days -- " 

"It's always a few days with you!" Tiffany's voice reverberates throughout the room, lining the cracks in the walls and sealing them with echoes of her own wounds. Even from a distance, her eyes look wet. "What happens when Seungwan is older? Right now she calls for you at night when you're gone but how do I answer her when she learns to ask where you are?"

Jessica's voice is shaky. "You tell her I'm right where you are," she answers, "you tell her I'm right with you, even when I'm not physically. You know that." The lines of her shoulders are tense, but she takes a step forward anyway. 

Tiffany shakes her head. "You say that, but these days I never know when you're going to be home or not." She looks away as she adds, "You always know when I'm going on tour and exactly how long I'll be away. I never know when to stop missing you." 

"We're trying to meet a quota before the fiscal year is up," explains Jessica, low and urgent and above all, pleading, "once these stores are opened it'll slow down."

"For how long?" Tiffany asks again. 

The designer runs a hand through her hair, exhaling. "I don't know what you want from me here," she admits, maybe asks if her voice is any indication, and Irene never wants to know that kind of quiet desperation that has Jessica taking another step forward and Tiffany one step back. 

"This is important to me," she stresses again, too.

"More important than me? Than us?"

Jessica's gaze lowers.

"I'm not doing this," she says, voice thick with unshed tears, "I won't do this with you. We're not twenty six anymore. You can't force me into a choice again." She looks up, the first tear slipping down her face, then another, and another. 

Irene feels the corners of her eyes burn, too, and thinks maybe Wendy was wrong. Maybe goodbye doesn't always go out swinging and fighting. Maybe all it takes is a quiet room.

"You used to be my biggest supporter, but lately all it ever it feels like is you're punishing me for going after my dreams," Jessica shrugs, a small, broken smile at her lips. "I thought we were past this, but maybe time just made us forget."

Tiffany presses her palms to her eyes, catching her own tears as well. "You've been my best friend since we were trainees," she says with a humorless laugh, like she wishes they could go back, like it could be that simple instead of the mess they're facing now. "Of course I want your dreams. I want mine, too, and this family's dreams -- with you."

"Do you?" Jessica has to ask, voice catching, "If I keep being a disappointment, how do I know you want this anymore? How do I know you want this with me?" 

"It's not -- " Tiffany breaks off. "It's not like there's another option, Jessi."

Jessica carries on. "Should you even want this still?" She lifts her eyes to the ceiling, and Irene has to push Yerim away from the vent until she looks away. "There's another choice, even if you don't want to see it."

"No, there's not," answers Tiffany, and this time, there's anger underneath the hurt, instead of the other way around. "And even if there was another way, I don't want it. I'm choosing this one."

"But how do we know it's right?" Jessica wipes at her eyes. "How do I know?"

Irene hears a quiet sniffle, and looks up. Yerim's eyes are red and the other girl is crying. 

"I've been saying it but you're not hearing it," says Tiffany. "And when you do hear it you're not listening, not really." 

They're right in front of each other but they can't hear what the other person is saying, Irene thinks. 

And oh, she realizes. Jessica never had the chance to hear some things, never listened Tiffany's lyrics from the song in the studio the other day. And she won't, not with the servers down. 

"Wendy," she murmurs into her mic, "Wendy, it's not about delaying the system, it's about fixing it."

There's nothing but silence, interspersed with static in her ear and Tiffany's _"I need you hear me"_ before she's retrieved by a manager and leaves the room, all while Yerim looks at her questioningly. Wendy must hear something in her voice, because she doesn't ask questions, just responds with the kind of conviction and assurance Irene fell for years ago. 

"Got you. Consider it done."

\---

"Did we do it?"

Wendy's voice is still clear in her ear even as she hangs back behind the line of fans swaying, her parents among them, raising light sticks in the air as Tiffany sits in an elegant dress, singing a ballad that makes Irene's heart squeeze at the sound of her voice.

From here, she can see Jessica just at the side of the stage, too, the most affected out of everyone. She knows Yerim is nearby, having delegated herself the role of making sure the woman would watch, would finally hear the words Tiffany always knew but needed to say in a different way.

"Well?"

Irene jumps, startled, as a hand slides down her arm and laces their fingers together. Wendy bumps into her on purpose, sweat lining her forehead and looking like she'd had a close call or two, but otherwise no worse for wear.

"Yeah," Irene breathes, a little smile she reserves just for Wendy when she looks at her. She leans against her even as she tries to hide it, switching her gaze back to the stage, to Tiffany and her song. "Yeah, we did it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i highly suggest listening to tiffany's ballad in this chapter [here,](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A5B4iio3NvU) it helps set the mood and it's also just really beautiful. #moretiffanyosts
> 
> this is for ourartist and scarletstring on twitter, the former for making me promise to get this done within a week/stop being lazy, and the latter for posting the new chapter to noisy thoughts and adding to my incentive to hurry so i could read hahaha.
> 
> not a lot of chapters left for this! thank you so much for anybody still following along, old and new readers alike. don't hesitate to leave a comment here or chat with me on twitter!


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